My Honour was Black
by Wyoming Outlaw
Summary: Dietrich follows his destiny as it takes him on a mission that causes him to question not only his place in the Wehrmacht, but that also shows him a glimpse of how his future will align with past prophecies. (Please, if you are kind enough to post a review, it would be greatly appreciated if you do not include any spoilers in your comments.)
1. Prologue

**Weep for yourself, my man,  
You'll never be what is in your heart  
Weep, little lion man,  
You're not as brave as you were at the start  
Rate yourself and rake yourself  
Take all the courage you have left**  
 **And waste it on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head.**

 _-Little Lion Man – Mumford & Sons, verse 1_

The rain was cold and biting as it hit my face. The Atlantic storm had been pounding the French coast for hours and showed no signs of abating. At times, the temperature would drop, turning the rain into sleet. It made the weather even more miserable for all of us forced to endure it. My greatcoat had become sodden hours ago and did nothing to keep out the dampness.

Despite the unpleasant conditions, I ordered my men to continue working on the fortifications. I wanted to make the most of the remaining daylight. There could be no rest for any of us as we prepared for the inevitable Allied invasion of France. I and my superiors possessed no doubts regarding it; the invasion was only a matter of time. The only unknown was the place. And when they had decided the right place and time, the Allies would arrive to begin their reclamation of Europe, sooner rather than later.

I looked across the extensive beach to the teeming gray ocean, angling my sight to the northeast, in the direction of the United Kingdom. The Allies were watching and planning, staring out across the expanse, matching our preparations.

I personally believed the German planning and fortifications would ultimately end in failure. They would slow, but not stop, the Allies in their crusade to crush the Nazis. Just as they had expelled us from North Africa and were in the process of doing so in Italy, they would eventually banish us from France.

There was a significant difference: North Africa had been across the Mediterranean, but France bordered Germany. From France, the Allies would begin the inevitable drive to capture Berlin. Germany would be conquered for the second time in less than three decades.

I shook my head already accepting my beloved Germany's defeat. I prayed for wiser heads in Berlin to prevail and to seek immediate peace with the Allies. But Hitler would never surrender under any circumstances while the Allies would never accept anything less than an unconditional surrender from him.

I was unable to prevent my focus from eroding as I continued looking out upon the Atlantic. I took a few steps away from my men, walking closer to the water. The air was heavy with salt and an occasional spray would hit me, mixing with the rain. It returned me to the reality of the moment.

I stood there with my hands behind my back, my thoughts consuming me.

The months has passed quickly since my evacuation from Africa. I viewed the passage of time with mixed emotions. I had believed the respite from active combat would provide me with some welcome mental relief from the constant stress and anxiety. Instead, I found the opposite to be true.

I had healed physically, but still suffered the emotional scars I had received from my captivity at the hands of Stuart Guest. Sometimes I would speculate which was more extensive: the nauseating physical scarring of my back from his floggings or the indescribable emotional mutilation of my mind from the heroin and his intimate touching.

I allowed no one to see my back nor my mind. I kept them strictly private for my own internal damnation to deal with on a daily basis.

Almost ten months had passed since I had been tortured and assaulted, ten months which seemed more like a lifetime. I thought time would have eased my emotional scars as they had for my body, but the memories remained as fresh as if they had occurred yesterday. There was little escape from these scars except through the vices of nicotine and alcohol.

And as for my other addiction yearnings, especially for heroin? Well, Guest had also seen to their omnipresence. My addictions were always with me, waiting to be reconciled or fed, whichever side having the power to win against me at the critical moment.

Each passing day grudgingly separated me from the pleasant memories of heroin. Gradually, my desire for the drug began to subside. My craving would always be there, waiting to reappear when I would be able to least control it. The craving generally now only manifested itself after I had experienced an extreme stressful situation.

One dark night soon after my return to France, the heroin cravings had been particularly intense and almost impossible for me to control. I had almost resorted to suicide to end my unrelenting hunger for the drug and the pain it was causing me.

I was unsure as to what had finally stopped me from completing the act. Perhaps it was me being able to finally bring my inner demons under control or the shame I would have caused my family when they were notified of my cause of death. They would have known nothing about the heroin and would naturally assume I had been unable to handle the stress of combat.

Wanting to redirect my mind elsewhere at this dark moment, I had grabbed my sketch book to capture my desperate situation. I drew a dark and disturbing picture of an anonymous man being consumed by swirling fog in the ragged garden of my parent's devastated estate. The man was attempting to escape but had been lashed to a wall preventing him from doing so.

During the few brief minutes I had sketched, I had drawn the trees as dark and sinister beings. Their branches were like emaciated arms, the twigs bony fingers, reaching out to grasp a passing victim. The ground was barren and if one didn't know better, you would believe you were in an abandoned graveyard. And yet in actuality, my parent's garden had been beautiful and peaceful. I had spent many restful moments under the graceful trees and nearby geranium beds since my childhood.

Occasionally, it would cross my mind how life would have been more pleasurable if I had remained with Guest in Ater. It would have been easy for me to just slip away and begin a new life permanently in Libya. The Afrika Korps would have quickly listed me as missing in action, presumed killed, during those final chaotic days. There would have been no men, let alone time or desire, to search for me. I would have become just another statistic of the war.

There were more than enough fallen German soldiers for me to quietly assume their identity as a cover for my new life. No one would have to have known the truth as to where I had actually disappeared. It then would have been a simple move for me to begin assisting Guest in running and expanding his drug and prostitution operations. An easy job to with the rewards of being pleasantly under the embrace of his delicious heroin or accepting the offerings of one of his lovely ladies.

Ironically, an added bonus of my disappearance is that I would have permanently escaped my father along with his constant demands for perfection. Eventually, the heroin would erase even his emotional commitment from my psyche.

Yes, I would have quietly disappeared and never been found.

I shook my head. I would not have been able to follow through with it.

I would roughly push aside these thoughts of being with Guest, vowing to never have them again. No, to have remained with Guest would have meant for me to forsake my honor, not only to my officer's oath, but also to myself and to the captured American sergeant whom I would have doomed to death.

I was lying to myself about the heroin and women. I would have almost immediately become a hopeless drug addict in the same category as Cheri. It then would have been only a matter of time before I became the physical confidant of the privateer to receive the heroin, I realized grimly.

And my other addictions? Well, they had not subsided in the least, either.

I had attempted to quit smoking soon after my return to France. Perhaps Hitler is correct, I had reasoned, trying to convince myself of the necessity of not smoking. It would be best for my body and mind to give up nicotine. The occasional cough I had developed convinced me cigarettes were adding nothing to my long term health.

I had failed miserably after only a few days.

I had uncharacteristically been issuing increasingly sharp orders to my men. My leutnant, Rainer Hahn, had finally reached into his breast pocket and casually tossed his cigarettes to me. Without saying a word, I had hungrily removed one from the pack. I dug for my lighter and blissfully lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag of it into my lungs.

I had felt myself instantly begin to calm, the nicotine providing me its warming embrace. I would never be able to quit after such a blissful reunion with cigarettes. I would remain unapologetically addicted to nicotine until I was carried to my grave.

Now if I could only feel the embrace of a woman and the delightful offerings of her body for even the briefest moment . . .

I had not been intimate with a woman since the final day I had spent with my fiancée, Agathe von Stein, in Italy. The absence of sex was almost more difficult than the nicotine and heroin addictions tearing at me. I had always enjoyed a very active sex life since an early age and to be celibate was difficult, to say the least. I considered sex natural and necessary for my physical and emotional health, essential to my existence and central to my identity as a man.

I had always been frank with my interactions to the numerous women I was with, never providing them with any false hope or promises of exclusivity for the future. However, my situation was now different. Agathe was my fiancée and I had promised and committed myself to remain faithful to her. My honor as a man and as her future husband demanded me to give her the respect she deserved.

With so many yearnings tearing at me, it was necessary for me to do something, anything to rein them in and maintain my sanity.

I had learned from Kommandant Eberhardt Schnass that dedicating one's self to work was as good for the mind as it was for the body. I was in desperate need of healing for both so I had forced myself to concentrate on my new duties, as tedious as they were, since my arrival in France.

I was normally up before dawn and frequently worked past midnight on the unending fortification work. When I wasn't in the field, I worked on the unceasing paperwork and provided translation services when requested.

On particularly tedious days I would muse as to why I had not been sent to the eastern front. I was never able to formulate a reasonable answer. The Eastern armies were begging for men, let alone the luxury of having an experienced combat officer being reassigned there.

Yet, here I remained in the relative safety of western France overseeing the construction of barriers, the so called Atlantic Wall.

I heard the hard steps of Hahn coming up behind me, interrupting my thoughts. He had learned to walk heavily near me so as not to startle me.

"Herr Hauptmann!" Hahn crisply saluted me.

I returned his salute knowing I would not have long for him to state his purpose.

"It is becoming late. Should we call it a day?" Hahn asked.

I glanced over to my men and noticed them looking at me expectedly, aware of the darkening sky.

"Yes," I agreed. "We've accomplished as much as we are able. Finish up and then cease for the day." We had little time to reach our compound before the darkness would settle around us. It was at night the partisans appeared, greatly increasing the already tense atmosphere.


	2. Chapter 1

I looked through my field glasses at the scene before me. The morning fog enveloped the French village with a peaceful stillness in the forest clearing. It wasn't even really a village, I corrected myself. There were only a handful of scattered houses, a barn and a few utility sheds. No, the "village" was probably just an extended family living in close proximity to one another, barely scraping an existence from the nearby fields.

We had been in position for almost twenty minutes at the northeastern edge of the settlement. My unit had been ordered to provide panzer support for the local Waffen-SS grupen when it attacked the village. The village was strongly suspected of harboring and supporting partisans and the SS was leading the raid to destroy it.

There had been no movement below which I thought was odd given the early time. Why was no one already working the fields? And why was there no livestock to be seen? The smoke drifting up from the chimneys had noticeably lessened since we had arrived. All of these signs indicated the residents had already fled.

They knew we were coming, I thought. Either they had been notified or they had heard us. After all, it would have been impossible for them not to recognize the heavy track sounds of the panzers and what they represented. The partisans would have taken advantage of the unintentional warning and escaped into the nearby forest. I had cautioned Sturmbannfuhrer Klaus Hegel that he was bringing the panzers too far forward but he had casually dismissed my concern.

I frankly thought the panzers were a hindrance for the operation. Besides probably also having already given away our presence, there was no room for them to maneuver in the tight terrain. The heavy forest was not conducive to their operation. The close trees prevented any clear shots or pursuit, eliminating the panzer's heavy fire power advantage.

I looked through my field glasses again, continuing to analyze the situation. I shook my head slightly at the basic errors Hegel continued to commit. There was little I could do since Hegel was the senior officer commanding the raid. The rear of the village was wide open. Hegel had not bothered to encircle the village enabling an easy escape from the rear for the partisans.

I continued to wait for Hegel's orders.

It would not be the first time I had been ordered to strike against the French partisans. They were becoming bolder and bolder with the passage of time. They, too, were waiting for the Allies to return, sooner rather than later. And when the unknown day finally arrived, the partisans would fiercely and relentlessly strike against the Germans who had been their occupiers for the last five years.

The partisans' early strikes against the Germans had been unorganized, but they had quickly brought structure and control to their operations. They did not possess the expertise of the Rat Patrol, but they were progressing rapidly.

A month ago I had been grazed on my left cheek by a partisan bullet which had left a slight scar. I had been fortunate the shooter had been a poor shot; I doubted he had been aiming for my cheek. I probably would not be so lucky in the future.

The partisans made their presence clearly known at any opportunity, but ruled the darkness when the sun set. It was then their raids were the most successful to equipment and men.

Captured German soldiers were frequently horribly tortured and mutilated before being killed. The prior week my unit had found one of our captured gefreiters hanging from a tree, dead from the loss of blood pooling underneath him. He had been emasculated, the partisans ramming his organs into his mouth. After verifying that the body was not booby-trapped, I had quietly ordered the man cut down and returned to our base for a decent burial. I was filled with disgust, but I recognized the clear promise on how the partisans would treat Germans in the future.

I didn't know who would be dealt with more harshly in the future: The Germans or the French collaborators who had willingly aligned themselves with us for various and whatever reasons. And as for the women who had eagerly taken German lovers . . . I could only shake my head as to what would happen to the numerous French women who had lain in my arms during the early days of the war when I was first posted to France.

A slight movement caught my attention. Hegel had finally became tired of waiting. He made a sign and several SS men were sent down to the village to investigate. My instinct clearly told me how the operation would end: It would end badly.

The men approached silently from the edges, running low to the ground. They broke into smaller groups, each group approaching a building. Pausing for a moment, they abruptly kicked open the doors and sprayed the interiors with machine gun fire. Each building was quickly searched and finding no partisans, the men exited almost immediately. When all the buildings had been searched, they regrouped in the center with Hegel joining them.

The barn was the only building to yield a suspect. Two SS men emerged dragging a burly man by his arms. They brought the prisoner to Hegel and threw him down in front of the Sturmbannfuhrer. The man slowly rose, brushing his clothes off and replacing his beret on his mop of greasy, black hair. He was about my height, but much larger. His too small clothes made him appear to be even bigger.

The SS men casually formed a circle around the prisoner and Hegel, their weapons at ease. Hegel suddenly needed me and waved me down join them. I ordered my men to stand firm and be watchful before briskly walking down to the village.

I saluted Hegel and waited for his order. Hegel looked over the prisoner for a few seconds, his eyes narrowing, no emotion showing on his face.

"What is his name?"

I asked the man his name. He looked at me for several seconds before responding slowly.

"Gilles Meurice."

"Ask him, Dietrich, where the partisans are hiding. Also, tell him to identify the killer and mutilator of the German soldier," Hegel ordered me.

I briskly questioned the prisoner in French, but received no answer. Instead of answering, the man gave me a slow grin and reached out and touched my medals. I hadn't expected such a response. I did not move and allowed him to touch them, his large hand surprisingly gentle against the cloth.

One of the Hegel's men struck the prisoner's head with his rifle butt sending the man sprawling again. As before, the man slowly picked himself up and brushed off his clothes as if he had all the time in the world. Several SS men began laughing at his predicament. I repeated my question to him with greater emphasis. His response puzzled me when I finally received it.

"Pretty. Brave fighting man." His voice and diction was similar to a young child's.

"Pretty?" I responded to him in French, not understanding the meaning of his response. The man brightly looked at my medals again before pointing at them.

I looked at the Frenchman and the realization struck me. I gave him a short nod in recognition and was rewarded with a wide smile from him.

The man widely moved his hands between the SS men and myself.

"You different than them."

I again gave him a nod. "Yes, I am in a different branch of the military."

"No," he corrected me. "You different in a different way. I know. I can tell. Stay different."

The man looked at me for emphasis. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen before. I found myself drawn into them, unable to turn away from him, his strong eyes seeming to reach down to my soul to touch it. There was something down deep in the man, something I didn't understand . . .

"What the devil is he saying, Dietrich?" interrupted Hegel impatiently.

"He was commenting on my medals and bravery in combat." I turned to face Hegel, finally able to break the connection I had with the Frenchman. "Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, I believe the man has a mind of a child. I seriously doubt he knows anything of value regarding the partisans. If he should have seen something by chance, if it highly unlikely he would even understand its significance or be able to convey the information accurately."

"Do you believe he is play-acting due to his capture?"

"No, I do not," I responded honestly

Hegel snorted in disgust. Hegel looked the prisoner up and down for several minutes. "Yes, as much as it pains me to admit it, I believe you are correct about him being an idiot. I can tell just by looking at him. The eyes, the shape of the head . . ."

My eyes narrowed at Hegel.

Hegel continued looking at the man, examining and analyzing him.

"You know, Dietrich? This man should not even be alive. All he is doing is taking up space and eating scarce food which could be sent to Germany for war widows and children." Hegel gave a few tsks as he began walking around the man.

I caught my breath. I immediately looked at Hegel. His diatribe was moving in a dangerous direction. I had heard it too frequently from other men like him.

"All of these feeble-minded, both the men and the women, are the same: Useless and oversexed. Sex is the only thing on their minds." Hegel continued walking around the man, looking him up and down as he would a diseased animal.

The Frenchman was oblivious to Hegel and his men. He kept trying to touch my medals, fixated on them. "Herr Sturmbannfuhrer . . ." I tried to say before Hegel cut me off.

"Swine like him were taken care of in the Third Reich. Who knows how many women he has raped and idiot children like himself he has fathered?"

I found the anger beginning to rise in me. I found Hegel's thoughts and words degrading to the man.

Hegel paused and his thoughts seemed to abruptly change. He looked around at the forest depths. "The partisans. They're out there. Waiting. Watching us right now."

"Possibly, but unlikely. We are open targets. If they had wanted to kill us, we would already be dead." I shook my head at the poor way Hegel had handled the raid. "They have already escaped deep into the forest through the area not covered in the rear. They will wait for the opportunity which will be the most advantageous to them."

"Why didn't they take him? And why didn't he run?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "The man was probably scared and hid, not knowing what to do."

Hegel shrugged his shoulders, not caring for my logic. He continued looking into the forest, mesmerized by what it contained.

"We need to send the partisans a message. We need to demonstrate the power of the Reich."

"Herr Sturmbannfuhrer," I interrupted. "I strongly . . ." before I could complete my protest, Hegel drew his service weapon and placed it against the man's temple and pulled the trigger.

My face was heavily splashed with the Frenchman's blood and brain tissue. I involuntarily took a step back before regaining my composure. The man slumped to the ground, the blood already gathering around what remained of his shattered head. My eyes locked with the arrogant eyes of the Sturmbannfuhrer.

I was shocked at the act Hegel had performed. I had seen scores of men brutally killed in combat and I had done my share of killing, but I considered the killing of the Frenchman murder. Not just the murder of a man, but the murder of a child. The killing had nothing in the least to do with warfare, but everything to do with Hegel's insatiable lust for control and power.

"You were saying, Dietrich?" Hegel said with a smug grin, oblivious to the gore splattered upon him.

"My thoughts regarding the man have now been rendered irrelevant, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer," I responded, seething. The sound of disgust was clearly evident in my voice.

"You Wehrmacht soldiers are too soft, Dietrich. It's obvious why it was a Wehrmacht soldier mutilated instead of an SS man. The SS know how to convey and demand respect."

Hegel proceeded to look out into the forest again. "Burn the village to the ground," he ordered his men in a far-away voice. "And as for this fine fellow," he came out of his trance and lightly kicked the lifeless body in front of him for emphasis, "string him up and emasculate him as his brethren did to Dietrich's man."

Hegel turned to me, the grin again reappearing on his face. "Would you care for the honor of performing the deed?" he asked me. "It will be your opportunity to extract revenge for your soldier and send a clear message to the partisans."

"No."

My voice was soft, but strong. A few of Hegel's men looked at me and laughed, misunderstanding the tone of my voice and believing me to be weak.

"I outrank you, _Hauptmann_ Dietrich. I could order you to do it," Hegel said, a strange glint in his eye.

"And I would refuse to carry out your order, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer," I immediately replied. My strong voice carried and his men heard my blunt refusal. The SS men were no longer laughing, and were alarmed at my stance, finally understanding what was driving it.

Hegel took a step closer to me. It had now become a contest of wills between the two of us.

"I could have you shot for disobeying a direct order!" Hegel hissed to me in a low voice, angry at my disobedience.

I stepped closer to him, my face now only a few centimeters away from his. I could smell the heavy iron scent of the Frenchman's blood on Hegel.

We stared at each other, our eyes locked, neither of us backing down. "Then be done with it!" I challenged him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hegel shrugged and took a step back from me. "Suit yourself for not doing it, Dietrich. But it's not every day one has the pleasure of doing such an act upon another man. It should have be done while he was still alive to send an even stronger message."

Hegel signaled his men and they quickly dragged the heavy body away. It took them only a few minutes to hang him from a tree in the clearing, before ripping his trousers down and completing their mutilation. Other men were already in the process of destroying the village with flamethrowers. Soon all the buildings were consumed by flames.

"No hard feelings, Dietrich," Hegel said as he turned to me again. "I will see that your support today is counted toward your Anti-Partisan badge." He looked at my uniform. "You may then add it to the other ones the imbecile was admiring."

"Your effort is not necessary on my behalf." I gave him a curt salute and left, not waiting to be dismissed. I could feel the heat of the fire on my back as I slowly returned to my panzers. I took out my worn handkerchief and wiped the man's blood and tissue from my face the best I could.

I silently climbed aboard and gave the signal for the driver to depart. He looked at me wide-eyed.

"Herr Hauptmann, what happened back there?" the young man asked me. "What they did to that man was the same as what was done to . . ."

Uncharacteristically, I waved him off to silence him because I was incapable of replying.

Before we left, I took my last look at the disastrous scene. The village had almost been completely consumed and the flames were beginning to die down. I could see the mutilated Frenchman hanging, slowly swinging from the tree. He had been someone's brother, a mother's son.

And now he was dead, dead due to the Third Reich, the thousand year Reich I swore an oath of loyalty to support.


	3. Chapter 2

A hand lightly settled on my arm shortly after I jumped down from the panzer. I immediately wretched my arm free and quickly reached for my sidearm. I whirled to see who had dared to touch me. The strong gray eyes of Oberst Roland von Kleist gazed at me apprehensively. I quickly recovered my decorum and holstered my weapon before smartly saluting my commanding officer.

We stood in the pouring rain for a few seconds. He examined me before calmly addressing me.

"You're edgy, Dietrich. It's not usual for one to draw a weapon on their commanding officer," he said with a light voice, masking the seriousness of the situation. "Was there an incident with the partisans today?"

"The SS handled the situation effectively, Her Oberst," I said, as my adrenalin rush slowly began to subside. "One might say too effectively. But it is prudent to always be alert given the partisan presence in the area," I easily lied, without apologizing for my strong reaction against von Kleist.

If von Kleist suspected the true reason for my conduct, he left it unsaid. Instead, he focused on the lie I had given him. "True. These peasants wouldn't give it a second thought before slitting any of our throats."

Careful not to touch me again, he waved for me to join him. "Enough said. Dietrich, I need you in my office immediately." The issue must be urgent if von Kleist was delivering the request himself instead of sending his adjutant.

Von Kleist waited for me expectedly as I gave a few brief orders to Hahn and my men. I then turned and left, walking silently with him the short distance to the command center.

I found myself lying more and more since my abduction in Ater. The untruths frequently spilt from my mouth to explain my occasional erratic behavior. I hated doing so, but I found lying was an easier alternative.

Unless I invited it, I did not care to be touched by anyone. An unexpected touch triggered negative emotions, both mentally and physically. My response could be especially extreme when the offender was a man. I had thought my reactions would have subsided after so many months from Guest fondling me, but instead they had become firmly ingrained in my psyche.

There was something broken about me. Normally with the assistance of smoking and drinking, I silenced my weaknesses and forced myself to place them aside. When I did have cause to turn my focus inward, I would realize that having such emotional deliberations indicated that I should be seeking the assistance from a medical professional, namely a psychiatrist.

I would laugh out loud at such a preposterous thought.

This was wartime Germany with a tightly mandated culture, not Vienna at the turn of the century with an open and enlightened society. As a German officer, I was expected to accept any difficult situation I encountered and continue fighting until my death. I would lose my command, not to mention my life, for demonstrating such a mental weakness in the confines of Third Reich.

I was familiar enough about psychiatry that for it to aid me in any way, I would need to be completely open and honest, requiring me to admit what had happened to me at the hands of Guest. It would be impossible for me to have such a candid conversation with a German professional. I would be unable to escape the very real concern of the authorities being notified. I could be labeled a homosexual and face dire consequences. It would be an inconsequential fact that I had been an unwilling victim, with no physical desire in the least for men.

And my family's reaction for seeking psychiatric assistance? It would be one of deep shame brought upon them for me being unable to control my weak emotions. They would rather admit to me being a murderer than being mentally unstable.

I forced myself to place my weaknesses aside, normally with the assistance of smoking or drinking, to silence them.

After the cold rain and wind, von Kleist's office seemed stifling hot and dry. I had had enough of these arid conditions in Africa and had little desire to experience them in France. I wanted to throw open the window to emit the fresh air. Instead, all I could do was to shed my sodden greatcoat which had been begun steadily dripping unto the floor. I removed my cover, running my hand through my hair.

"Have a seat, Dietrich," von Kleist said, nodding towards a chair.

I sat there expectedly, my cover in my lap.

"So what is the real reason for your jumpiness, Dietrich?" Von Kleist pulled out a pack of cigarettes from a drawer and casually tossed the pack to me.

I shook out two, and handed one to the oberst. He leaned forward and I lit it, before lighting my own.

I left his question unanswered. I was not going to inform him that I had no desire to be touched by another man, no matter how innocent the action might be.

"Combat related?" he continued pressing. "The last thing I need on my staff is another officer who has anxieties from being in combat. You've seen extensive combat since 1939. Your current duty should be a welcome relief, even if you are occasionally dealing with the partisans."

Von Kleist blew out a plume of smoke, intently looking at me while doing so.

I gave a short laugh. God, how I wished it was combat related. At least then I would have an excuse and understand how to deal with the trauma. Instead, my anxiety was due to me being undeniably weak and unable to accept it. I should have moved past my assault months ago.

Von Kleist looked at me expectably, silently demanding an answer.

"Herr Oberst, I have not seen what I would consider actual combat since I left Africa. There have been minor skirmishes with the partisans, but I would hardly call those combat." I evaded his question, but responded honestly. While a part of me welcomed the respite from the constant death, there was a larger part of me that greatly missed it. I had not joined the military to build fortifications and barricades along the coastline.

"Frankly, I find my current duties rather mundane and unchallenging. I feel more like a staff officer than an officer trained for the field. Apparently, I am one of the few who is actually looking forward to seeing actual fighting again."

Von Kleist gave a short laugh. "Ah, Dietrich! Wouldn't we all like to pick and choose our orders? I hate to disappoint you, but our profession does not work so neatly. I doubt even Herr Field Marshall Rommel would choose his current orders."

I bowed my head slightly as a sign of contrition. I understood, but I still did not desire my orders.

"The more we prepare now, the smoother combat will go when the Allies arrive. They will arrive soon enough."

Von Kleist peered at me closely. "Anything else you care to bring to my attention?"

"Nothing, Sir," I said directly, returning his strong gaze.

He kept me waiting for a few moments, both of us smoking to relax from the day. He finally told me the real reason why I had been brought here.

"You are about to have a respite from your 'mundane and unchallenging' duties. I've recommended for you to lead a special mission."

I immediately became attentive, eagerly leaning forward to catch all of his words.

"Kindly inform me of the details."

"You are to select six men to accompany you to the Island of Rhodes. When you arrive, you will be provided the actual details of your mission."

I waited for von Kleist to continue with additional information, but he remained silent. It was uncharacteristic of him to be secretive.

I thought for a moment before responding. "Sir, do you have any additional information available? It would assist me in choosing the appropriate men and equipment. You've provided me very little to determine the mission's needs."

"I've given you all the information I was provided. The mission carries a top secret classification. The mission will originate on Rhodes; I know nothing else." Von Kleist shrugged his shoulders. "I was requested to recommend an officer and to allow him the freedom of selecting his own men. As for equipment, anything necessary will be provided on Rhodes."

I frowned. Normally, I preferred the autonomy of my mission, allowing me to determine how to accomplish it. But this time, I had absolutely no details to base my decisions.

Von Kleist thought for a moment before continuing, taking a few drags on his cigarette. "There is one minor piece of information I can give you. Apparently, the standard winter issue will not be suitable for the mission's climate. Your team will be issued tropical uniforms when you arrive."

I couldn't stop my pulse from increasing when he mentioned the tropical issue. My mind immediately went to Africa and that the mission could be remotely connected to the Afrika Korps. I began to ask von Kleist additional questions but he waved me off impatiently.

"I really have no further details, Dietrich. The mission has been purposely left vague for security reasons."

Von Kleist paused before continuing. "There is one other thing of which I believe you should be aware."

I became even more intent, eagerly hanging on his words. "What is it, Herr Oberst?"

"You were not the original officer I selected to lead the mission," he admitted frankly.

I sat back in my chair. I coolly took a drag on my cigarette, not caring for this fact.

"Hauptmann Mueller was the one who originally received the nod. Of course, I had chosen him before he became incapacitated due to his injury."

I looked at von Kleist suddenly, instantly understanding the extent of "incapacitated".

I had known Rolf Mueller casually, both of us rising middle officers. He had served capably in various European theatres before being assigned here approximately the same time as I had been.

A little more than a fortnight ago, Mueller had had a lengthy firefight with a partisan commando group which had completely unnerved him. He had sought me out, desperately wanting to understand the resilience I had shown against the Rat Patrol. I spoke to him freely of my extensive encounters and experience against the commando group, my few successes along with my numerous failures against them.

I also detailed my frustration and the high loss of life, and the Rat Patrol's unnerving tendency to appear at the most unexpected moment which kept tension at a heightened level.

Soon after our last conversation, Mueller had received a non-lethal wound. I had seen and heard too much during my almost four years of combat not to recognize how the injury had occurred. However, while I heard of enlisted men performing such acts, I was unaware of any officers doing such a deed.

Although it was natural for anyone entering combat to have fear, as a German officer, he should have dealt with his anxiety instead of allowing it to engulf him. The terror of leading this special commando mission must have overcome Mueller, driving him to his action.

Apparently, I had not been alone with this thought because Mueller had quietly disappeared a few days afterwards.

My God, what had we become? I agreed that his act was cowardly and unbecoming of an officer, but to execute him? Had the Wehrmacht reached the level of the SS?

I could vaguely hear von Kleist speaking, pulling me from my thoughts regarding Mueller.

"I selected you afterwards to be Mueller's replacement." He shook his head. "I had originally recommended you to lead the mission, but the commanding oberst requested a different officer."

I did not care to be a second choice. It indicated that my commanding officer believed I was lacking in a skill and could not be depended upon given a particular condition.

"What was the reason for you selecting Mueller originally?"

"For a very simple reason: Mueller spoke Greek and you do not. It was a requirement of the mission. I frankly believe you are a more qualified officer with much deeper experience, especially for a commando mission, but the requesting oberst specifically wanted an officer who spoke Greek."

"I will be sorry to disappoint him," I said coldly. I spoke six languages and several different dialects, but apparently they were not sufficient. "Is the ability to speak Greek still critical to the mission? If yes, then a third replacement will be necessary."

"There is no time to locate someone else. Time is of the essence for the mission. The first window of opportunity has already passed. You will need to suffice and make do with the languages you do know."

My eyes narrowed. I had never been told in my career about needing to "suffice". The mission was beginning poorly.

"An interesting turn of events with the same ultimate outcome," von Kleist added brightly.

"Yes," I responded with a chill to my voice.

"And who will I be temporarily reporting to?" I asked, barely containing my anger.

"Oberst Bruno von Graff."

My face immediately went stony and impassive at the mention of the oberst's name.

I had never cared for him and I knew the feeling was mutual.

I thought him completely lacking in any military skills, adding little, if anything, to the modern Wehrmacht. I could not fathom how von Graff was behind an important mission given his sparse background.

I had known von Graff from before the war and had encountered him on a few occasions at various functions since then. He possessed an aristocratic name without any of the land or financial holdings to support it. He had married into his money which he enjoyed at the expense of his long suffering wife. I did not believe in divorce, but I would have understood the decision given his wife's continued difficult situation.

Von Graff had been, briefly, an early suitor of my mother who had never considered him seriously for even a moment. Apparently, von Graff thought differently and had deluded himself into believing he had narrowly missed winning my mother's hand in marriage.

Von Graff revisited his past fantasy moment on one drunken occasion when he had attended a fundraising event at the Academy when I was a cadet and he had yet to be promoted to oberst. I was in the early stages of my probation and was serving at the event as part of Kommandant Schnass' work requirements.

Von Graff had cornered me as I was carrying a tray of glasses to the kitchen.

"Ah, Dietrich! Not exactly following in your father's footsteps by being a servant, eh?"

I ignored his belittling question and merely gave him a nod acknowledging his presence. "Major von Graff, if you would excuse me? I am needed in the kitchen."

I turned to leave when he grabbed my arm, preventing me from leaving. I barely avoided dropping the stemware which would be an inexcusable event in Schnass' opinion. I would be forced to work off their value on top of my other duties.

"Tell me, Dietrich. How is Alexandra?" Von Graff licked his lips as he asked me.

Even though he had courted my mother, I thought him unbelievably forward to call my mother by her first name after so many years had passed. She was now a married woman and he was not an immediate family friend. I realized he was inebriated, but I would not tolerate his condition as an excuse.

"My mother, Frau Dietrich, is well," I responded in a cold voice, using my mother's correct title. "My father, her husband, Herr General Dietrich, is also doing well," I added, looking von Graff firmly in the eye.

"Please excuse me." I attempted to leave again, but he tightened his grip on my arm.

The challenge to me was unmistakable and I decided to return it to him.

"And how is your wife, Herr von Graff?" I innocently asked. "I do not see her present this evening. There is another woman in her place." The pointed reference was towards the beautiful young woman I had seen him escorting earlier in the evening. I have heard various rumors of his varied affairs over the years and now they had been confirmed.

"Ah, you mean my wife's niece," von Graff responded, motioning to the woman's general direction. "My wife is ill so her niece was kind enough to accompany me."

It was on the tip on my tongue to innocently ask von Graff if he was aware that his wife's niece would "accompany" any man for a price at Garten Strasse. I had recognized the dark blonde woman earlier in the evening when I had offered her a glass of champagne. She had given me a slight smile as she had in turn recognized me from the few times I had enjoyed her company.

Apparently, von Graff was becoming careless to escort such a woman to an official social affair.

My pointed reference to his missing wife was lost on von Graff. He continued inquiring about my mother. "Your father is no youngster, Dietrich. Significantly older than Alexandra, almost by twenty years, if I remember correctly. Her family really should have insisted for her to marry someone closer to her own age."

I thought his continued forwardness appalling. "It was my mother's choice to whom she would marry," I responded darkly. "She desired marriage with no one either than my father and her family supported her decision."

Von Graff paused to look at me slyly, meeting my challenge. "You know, I courted your mother before she met your father." He gave a small chuckle, remembering the past. "You could have been my son, Hans," he said.

The thought of von Graff being my father revolted me. I was always baffled as to why my mother married my father, what she could have possibly seen in him when she had had her choice of so many suitors. As to marrying von Graff, I would have been completely dumbfounded beyond belief by such an action by her.

"No, it would have been an impossibility," I said frankly. "My mother would have never married someone shorter than herself."

Von Graff's face had immediately darkened at my insult. He had quickly reached out and slapped my face hard in rebuke. I staggered, dropping the tray of stemware which shattered on the floor.

"You insolent little prick! What impertinence you possess!" He continued striking me, each blow harder for emphasis. I almost fell to my knees, forced to accept his physical rebukes due to my concern of being expelled.

"I will speak to Kommandant Schnass regarding your boorish and disrespectful behavior towards me." He then stalked off.

If von Graff did speak to Schnass, which I seriously doubted, nothing came from it. Schnass was a close friend of my parents. No doubt Schnass would have agreed with my frank assessment of von Graff's poor behavior. Not to mention, the boldness for von Graff to be socially seen with a woman who was a paid escort. I had known Schnass since childhood and he would not have approved of von Graff's infidelity.

Later, the delectable woman had casually approached me while alone to refill her glass. I took her glass to refill it and she had lightly wrapped her hand around mine. Her cool fingers had felt electrifying against my bare skin when she had caressed my hand for a few brief seconds.

I found myself coloring due to her subtle attention. I had quickly looked around to see if anyone else noticed the effect she was having on me. The woman then leaned towards me, her low cut dress allowing me a glimpse of her lithe body on which was wearing no undergarments.

"The greenhouse at midnight," she whispered to me.

I had blushed deeply at her suggestion and lost concentration, overfilling her glass and the champagne spilling onto the floor. She gave a lively laugh before casually walking away, with a wink and a slight nod towards the greenhouse.

As much as I had wanted to accept her offer of gratuitous sex, I hadn't dared take her up on her offer due to the audacity of the suggestion. Even as reckless as I had become towards sex, my rendezvous with the woman while on duty would cross the line. If Schnass should discover it, my probation would end and he would expel me without a second thought.

"You appear to have known Oberst von Graff, Dietrich," von Kleist said. "Have you reported to him previously? I did not see it in your dossier."

"No," I said a bit too quickly. "I have not, but I have met him socially on a few occasions, dating back several years before the war," I said vaguely. "I have not crossed paths with him recently. It will be an interesting . . . experience reporting to him."

"Experience" was the only word I could politely think up. I took a final drag on my cigarette to take away the bad taste in my mouth caused by von Graff's memory.

"When are we scheduled to leave?"

"There is a transport plane leaving tomorrow morning. Von Graff has already been notified that your team will be on it."


	4. Chapter 3

We were met at the Rhodes' airfield by von Graff's adjutant, Hauptmann Gustav Luther. I had not met Luther previously, but he emulated the same over confidence and self-importance I remembered of his superior.

Luther looked me up and down, much as he would if I was a horse at an auction, before he finally spoke.

"Hauptmann . . . Hauptmann . . ?"

"Dietrich," I said. He frowned in response.

"You are not the officer we were expecting. Where is Mueller?"

"Mueller became a casualty." Yes, I thought, a casualty in more ways than one. "I was ordered to report in his place."

Luther shook his head in disgust. "Oberst von Graff will not be pleased. He was informed Mueller would lead this critical mission and now . . ." he allowed his words to trail off. I found the way he spoke to me annoying. While Luther was my peer, his voice contained an unmistakable condescending tone.

"I would hate to disappoint Herr Oberst. It would be for the best for a different officer to lead the mission, Luther." I gave him a nod and picked up my bag. I turned to leave, signaling for my men to follow me.

"Oberst von Graff will be the one to decide if you leave," Luther said as he grabbed me by my forearm, preventing me from leaving. His unexpected touch startled me and I couldn't stop myself from pulling back harshly from him.

My eyes blazed with fury at the boldness and audacity of him touching me. I looked at him and then down at his hand, still gripping my arm. My anger was unmistakable and he slowly released his hold.

"Follow me, Dietrich," he said, indicating a path. "It isn't too far to the Oberst's quarters. Your men will be shown to their barracks in the meantime. You will have time to discuss the mission with them after your meeting with the Oberst."

We walked in silence the short distance to von Graff's mansion. Of all the buildings available to von Graff on the island, I wasn't surprised in the least that he had commandeered this particular one. I was used to my family's elegant and tastefully designed estate, not something overly built for the sole purpose of showing wealth.

The mansion was large and overly built with no sense of architecture. The inside was even worse. While the house was luxuriously furnished, it was a true testimony to the fact that money cannot buy taste. If anything, it looked a house established for men's pleasure. Perhaps an upscale house of pleasure, but like a bordello all the same. I briefly pondered if the previous owner had decorated it or if the designer had been von Graff himself, using Nazi money to fund the lifestyle he so desperately craved.

And was it necessary to have a guard stationed every few meters? Von Graff was only an Oberst; even Generals received less security protection than what von Graff had posted here. These men could better serve at one of the numerous German fronts where men were always in short supply.

There was an occasional faded space on the walls indicating where artwork had previously hung. Had the previous owner removed them before fleeing? Or had von Graff already stripped the paintings from the walls and had them shipped to Germany for his private collection? I would never know their fate.

I stopped to look at one of the remaining paintings. It was a poor forgery of a Georgia O'Keefe painting of calla lilies in muted colors. The intensity of the painting still shone through the feeble attempt to reproduce the artist's skill. I reached out and gently touched it with my fingertips.

I speculated who had created the forgery and how it had ended up on Rhodes, so far from the United States. I knew it was fake since I had the original hanging in my suite in Coburg along with other pieces of her art. I had purchased them from the artist personally when I had visited her Santa Fe studios.

Collecting O'Keefe's modern art, along with American jazz, was one of the few indulgent pleasures I allowed myself. I greatly admired her art since it reached a deep, inner part of me. I loved the boldness and freedom it represented, the willingness and audacity to be different and not care in the slightest what others thought. It was a reflection which I kept fiercely private and which I allowed few people to rarely witness.

"Degenerate, isn't it?" Luther commented, noticing my attention to the painting. "It should be burned like the trash that it is. Americans will piss away their money on anything. It's only value is to demonstrate the inferiority of American art when compared to good, solid Germanic art." He continued walking up the stairs without giving it a second thought.

"Yes, it should be burned," I agreed, wanting the forgery destroyed. "It truly has no value at all.

Though, I admitted, it did nicely illustrate that von Graf was as much of an idiot as I had always thought him to be and that Luther was no better. I supposed that in itself was some value. I took a final look at it and gave a small smile before following Luther.

Luther announced me and motioned me into von Graff's office on the second floor.

Von Graf was seated at a massive desk underneath a portrait of Hitler. Von Graff made no attempt to hide his surprise at my appearance.

"Dietrich! What the devil are you doing here?"

"Herr Oberst, I was ordered to report here for a special mission under your command."

Von Graff continued to look me over, obviously still surprised at my presence. After what seemed like several minutes, but was probably only a few seconds, he searched through the papers strewn across the desk before he found the one he was seeking.

I was left purposely standing by von Graff to demonstrate his authority over me.

"I was informed it was Hauptmann Rolf Mueller who would be leading my mission. Where is he?"

"Hauptmann Mueller became an unexpected casualty." I decided it would be best if I kept Mueller's status vague. "I was ordered to report here as his replacement," I repeated.

"Were you aware of this development, Luther?"

The adjutant shook his head, signifying his innocence. "I only became aware of it when Dietrich informed me at the airfield."

"Why wasn't _I_ informed? Mueller was perfect for the mission and now . . . To say the least, I'm not pleased at his replacement."

No less pleased than I was to be his replacement, I thought, as I shrugged my shoulders.

"I have no answer as to why you were not informed, Herr Oberst."

Von Graff gave me a once over and appeared to be calming down. He finally motioned for me to sit. "You speak Greek, don't you?"

"No." My answer was curt, even omitting the courtesy of his rank.

Von Graff's anger rose to the surface again although he never raised his voice. "I clearly stated that the man I needed must speak Greek." He shook his head. "The situation is quickly going from bad to worse. First Mueller becomes a casualty, then you are sent as his replacement. To compound the issue further, you don't even speak the required language needed to ensure success.

"You are clearly lacking, in more ways than one. This mission is critical for Germany's success and it calls for someone more substantial than a barely qualified officer who was almost an Academy dropout."

Uncharacteristically, I felt the need to defend my record. "I'm hardly a 'dropout'. I graduated fourth in my class. And as for being barely qualified, my combat record and commendations speak for themselves."

I was proud of my records. There were few other hauptmanns who had accomplished as much as I had. Von Graff had not even attended a military institution, let alone graduated at the top of his class.

"True, but, of course, everyone knows how all of your accomplishments came to be."

My eyes narrowed at the implied reference to my father and his supposed influence in my career. My father had not been with me on the battlefield, and had certainly not been with me at Jufra when I had earned my Iron Cross with Oak Leaves. I had earned my honor there due to the actions of my men, and not due to my father's.

"Things still haven't changed for you, Dietrich. You are still being protected and given choice assignments. You should be elsewhere rather than here."

"And where is 'elsewhere', Herr Oberst?" I asked coolly. Von Graff was not worth the effort and yet I was unable to stop being baited by him.

"The Eastern Front."

I restrained myself from snorting in response. Being posted to the Eastern Front was the standard response everyone gave for someone avoiding hard duty. I had done anything but avoid difficult duty. And why wasn't von Graff in the east instead of enjoying Rhodes as an easy duty station?

Von Graff continued with the substitution issue. "Surely, there must have been a different officer available?"

I felt my anger beginning to rise. I now refused to justify my background and accomplishments further to anyone, let alone this pompous ass. "If you believe a different officer, would be better suited for your mission, feel free to request him. I will now take my leave and return to France with my men. If you will excuse me . . ." I rose to leave.

"Sit down, Dietrich! You haven't matured at all over the years. You are still the same egotistical boy I had the misfortune to know from before the war."

We glared at each other for several minutes, before he continued. "Trust me, if there was sufficient time available, I would request a different officer. But time is of the essence and I will just need to make do with you."

"Then pray brief me on the mission, Herr Oberst, so I may begin it," I responded professionally. I took my cigarettes from my breast pocket, almost forgetting to offer von Graff one before I lit mine. He looked disgustedly at them before curtly shaking his head in refusal. I had barely taken my first drag when he began briefing me.

"No doubt you are have heard that General Joerg Schilling was captured and is being held prisoner by the Allies."

I nodded slightly, unsure of where he was heading. "Yes, I have heard the rumors."

"Unfortunately, they are true. Germany cannot suffer the loss of such a superb leader at an essential moment of the war."

I had to restrain myself from waving my hand to encourage von Graff to finally get to the point and move beyond the party rhetoric.

"It is critical to The Third Reich for General Schilling to be returned to ensure success in the war. Of course, the Allies won't willingly return him. It will be necessary to force their hand for him to be returned to the Wehrmacht," von Graff continued.

I couldn't stop myself from leaning forward. I now understood where Von Graff's ramblings were leading. Von Graff would propose to recapture Schilling, a prestigious mission for me, or anyone, to lead. I thrived upon this type of tightly focused mission although my background leant more to large scale tactical battles.

I now eagerly wanted to learn the mission's specifics. Instead, von Graff went off on a tangent.

"There are two British nationals, a man and his, living in Rathe, a coastal town in Libya."

My pulse quickened at his mention of Africa, just as it had with von Kleist. I actually would be returning to an area I thought I would never see again.

"Yes, I am familiar with the area," I said impatiently. "I was in the area both before and during the North African campaign." I was becoming irritated with von Graff adding this additional piece of information. How was the father lending itself to recapturing Schilling?

"Dietrich, your mission is to seize him and bring him to Rhodes. Germany will then use him as an exchange for Schilling." Von Graff leaned back in his chair, satisfied with his briefing to me.

I sat back, taking in the information von Graff had provided to me. I preferred to have missions delivered to me at a high level, allowing me the flexibility of attacking the engagement in a method which best suited my skills. I was already beginning to analyze the few facts I possessed, pulling together the mission.

I settled on the one glaring question: If Germany was making the effort to abduct this unknown man, couldn't the same effort be used to simply recapture Schilling? There was the strong possibility the Allies would not agree to an exchange. Why would the Allies even remotely want to exchange him for Schilling? It would be more to their advantage to refuse negotiations rather than have Schilling return to the battlefield.

While it was not my concern, not part of my assigned mission, I still believed it was my obligation to bring this likelihood to von Graff's attention.

"Herr Oberst, has the possibility been considered that the Allies might refuse to exchange General Schilling for the British national? Who is this man to be the equal of General Schilling?"

He blinked, looking at me incredulously. "Man? I never said anything about exchanging the man for General Schilling."

"You mentioned it in the briefing you just gave me. Have I misunderstood you?" Now it was my turn to look incredulously at von Graff. There was something very odd about this mission I was beginning to suspect.

"Why am I not surprised that you misunderstood me?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You are not to abduct the man, but his son. The Allies would never agree to exchange General Schilling for the boy's father. But they will desperately agree to the exchange for the boy's return."

I couldn't help myself from gasping slightly. To kidnap the boy, a non-combatant, to exchange was preposterous and bordered on being a war crime.

"Who is the boy to warrant the trade of General Schilling?"

"It is of no concern of yours, Dietrich. Your orders are merely to provide the boy. You will be informed later, once you have delivered him."

It was the most obvious question, but von Graff was denying me the answer. I was becoming frustrated by his farcical mission.

"And if the Allies choose not to negotiate for the boy's release?"

"Then the boy will be shot. It will be a warning to the Allies that the Third Reich is serious in its negotiations."

Rarely was I at a loss for words. Stunned at his callousness, it took me a few seconds to carefully piece together a response.

"Sir? Has Berlin been notified?"

"Dietrich, I can assure you I have the blessings of Berlin for this mission."

"Including the boy's execution?"

My blunt question was greatly pushing the situation with von Graff. If it had been a different officer I reported to, such as Obersts von Kleist or Jabs, or even Rommel, I would have felt completely at ease to ask such a dangerous question, not to mention, to continue pushing back against the answer I already knew.

I considered it essential for junior officers to have the confidence and ease to speak candidly with their superiors regarding their concerns. It was how I was superbly trained by Schnass and it was a trait I encouraged in the junior officers who reported to me.

However, I also believed just as strongly that it was critical, if not more so, for subordinates to understand that their commanders possessed the final authority. It was not always feasible to have different opinions aired during the heat of combat. If fact, it could be dangerous. The Wehrmacht was not a democracy and never could be one if it was to succeed on the battlefield. Authority rested solely to whom it was granted. There was a time and place for discussion and snap decisions frequently had to be made without allowing for any discussion.

Von Graff did not possess my command philosophy.

"Are you questioning your orders, Hauptmann Dietrich?"

Von Graff's use of my formal rank indicated the issue was now decidedly closed. I could push the issue no further without greatly endangering myself.

I attempted one final time using a different approach.

"Sir, the ultimate goal for the mission is for General Schilling's return. The mission could be altered to rescue him with a small raiding party instead of taking the boy. It would be more direct and efficient and not leave open the possibility of the Allies refusal to negotiate."

Von Graff's eyes narrowed at the obvious plan of action. "Your option has already been researched and discarded. The decision has been finalized to kidnap the boy. Do you have any further suggestions?"

Although I had always believed that Germany would lose the war even for its opening days, Berlin must aware be aware of its impending defeat. It was the only reason to justify such a desperate form of warfare.

I gave a brief shake of my head.

Von Graff gave a small smile of triumph at me. "It is as I thought. We are expecting more detail from Intelligence by early tomorrow morning. I will have it sent to you as soon as it arrives. You will have 48 hours to prepare before you execute the mission. It is critical for it to be completed before Schilling's capture becomes known.

"Until you are ready to launch the mission, I have had special quarters prepared for your men. Given your rank, you may reside here in my residence during the meantime." He looked generous, as if I had never had the opportunity to be in such a manor.

"I prefer to be quartered with my men, Herr Oberst," I responded, almost too quickly.

Von Graff looked at me with narrow eyes as if I had insulted him. I felt compelled to provide him with an explanation. "Given the compressed time schedule, we will need to act very quickly. It would be to our advantage for me to be readily accessible and able to issue orders without delay."

Von Graff shrugged his shoulders, partially mollified. "As you wish, Dietrich. I can tell you are one of those front line officers, always wanting and needing to be with your men."

Now it was my turn to shrug my shoulders. Shouldn't all officers be on the front line? How else were we to quickly grasp and act upon constantly fluid battle conditions?

"Perhaps you will accept my hospitality to stay in my residence after you successfully complete the mission?" Von Graff had poised his offer as a question, but it was in actuality an order.

"Of course," I responded flatly. "You are most generous to extend your invitation to me for a second time."

It was on the tip of my tongue to inquire where the true owner of the mansion was residing, but I wisely kept my question to myself. The owner had probably been neatly disposed of by the Nazis, allowing von Graff to live in the fantasy residence he had always believed he deserved.

"I will have you shown to your temporary quarters. Your men will have restricted movement to prevent any leak of the mission. Their only contact, besides yourself, will be with me or my adjutant before the mission is executed.

I gave him a nod in recognition. I rose and saluted him before turning to leave.

"Herr Oberst?" I had one more question I had to ask.

"Yes?" responded von Graff, looking up, obviously annoyed.

"Is your wife doing well?" Now the roles had been reversed. "Is she here?"

Von Graff looked at me, his small eyes slightly narrowing. "No, she is not. My wife is now almost an invalid, bedridden the majority of the time. She remains in Berlin."

"I am sorry to hear of her difficulty," I responded honestly. Von Graff shuffled a few papers on his desk pretending to work, wanting to avoid the conversation.

"And her niece?" Now von Graff completely avoided looking at me.

"I have lost contact with her due to the chaotic situation of the war." I would not let him off so easy.

"Very unfortunate," I said in mock sympathy, shaking my head for emphasis. "I don't believe you were aware, but when I was still a cadet at the Academy, I enjoyed 'dessert' with her on a few occasions myself. She was as talented as she was beautiful." I smiled in memory. Indeed, she had been a talented women. "An interesting and delightful conversationalist, and of such diverse talents and skills. I very much understand why you enjoyed her company, as did I."

Von Graff looked up at me suddenly. I stood there, my face expression impassive as his eyes searched my face. It dawned on him that I had always known the identity of the young women and of his infidelity since our encounter at the Academy so many years ago.

"It's time for you to leave, Dietrich," he said coldly. "You are not here so that we can reminiscence about our shared participation in the pre-war social scene."

I gave him a slight smile and a nod before I left.


	5. Chapter 4

I was taken to a nearby barracks where my men had already settled in. Knowing that they had already been provided a hot meal, I ordered the men to stand down and rest, notifying them we would need to act quickly once the mission's details became known and I had developed a plan.

The men retired gladly. Compared to their quarters in France, the barracks were luxurious, spacious and with clean linens.

After I had eaten, I was provided a small, comfortable room nearby which provided me privacy.

I threw open the window to emit the cool air and stripped down to my undershirt and shorts. I was no longer used to the mild weather which now seemed unbearably hot to me.

Folded neatly on the desk was a tropical uniform. I went to it and gently touched the light, khaki fabric. It had been less than a year, but it seemed like I had never worn them before. It was so different than the heavy, woolen grey uniform I had been wearing in France.

I had sent my own Afrika Korps' uniforms home after my evacuation. They would remain in the attic, waiting untouched to be rediscovered a lifetime from now.

Realizing any sleep would be at a premium for the next few weeks, I pushed aside my memories and lay down to rest.

I was deeply asleep when there was a light knock at the door.

"Herr Hauptmann?"

I was instantly awake at the sound of the soft voice.

"A moment." I quickly pulled on the tropical uniform and was tucking my blouse into my trousers when I opened the door.

A staff febel stood rigidly at attention, a thick dossier in his hands.

"The information regarding the mission. Oberst von Graff ordered it to be delivered to you as soon as it arrived."

"Thank you." I eagerly accepted the records. "What time is it?"

"A little past 04:00, Herr Hauptmann."

I was pleased for the documents arriving early in the morning. It would give me a few hours to review them before briefing von Graff.

I eagerly broke the seal on the dossier. It contained several photographs, maps and various briefs and documents. "When will Oberst von Graff be available?" I asked, without looking up.

"The Oberst is an early riser. He will be available for you to meet after he has breakfast."

"Which is when?" I pressed, skimming through the documents while keeping them in order.

"09:00." Now I did look up. I raised an eyebrow at the "early time", but restrained myself from shaking my head in disbelief. I was normally up for four or five hours by then. The febel looked sheepish, not wanting to meet my eyes.

"Please notify Hauptmann Luther I will be ready to brief Oberst von Graff at 09:00."

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann," he said. "It is still early, Herr Hauptmann. Would you care for me to have coffee sent?"

"Coffee?" I asked, surprised. It had been weeks since I had had the pleasure of tasting real coffee.

"Yes, real coffee, Herr Hauptmann," the febel responded with a grin.

"Please". The coffee will be greatly appreciated."

It didn't take long for the coffee to arrive. I placed the dossier aside so I could relish the coffee and a cigarette for an uninterrupted moment. The two were such simple pleasures in life. I enjoyed them as I watched my room slowly become lighter due to the rising sun.

Relaxed and comfortable, I began to work.

I emptied the dossier unto the narrow desk, placing the contents in a neat pile in the center.

I then lit another cigarette and cleared my mind. I would not allow myself to form an opinion or to begin analyzing the material until I had thoroughly reviewed and understood the contents.

I spent the next hour performing my initial review of all the documents.

In the short time available, German Intelligence had performed an excellent job of preparing the background information files. There were maps, tidal charts, and meteorological forecasts for the next few weeks, written observations, drawings of the grounds, and several photographs of the area including a few high quality aerial shots.

The final photograph was a close-up of a boy. I focused on the boy, immediately noticing a melancholy about him. I began to feel compassion for him which I forced myself to place aside.

Perhaps it was best for me not to know his name. It was critical for me to have no personal feelings and emotions regarding him. To do so would not only place the mission's success at risk, but would also endanger my men and also the boy. It was not of my doing he had been pulled into the madness of war, I told myself. And as such, involvement of any kind was a luxury that could not be afforded.

My sentimentality abruptly terminated, I began to work in earnest.

I brought out a pad of paper and pen and began writing conspicuous notes, observations and self-asked questions for over the next hour. To refresh my mind, I halted once for a few moments to shower and shave. I returned rejuvenated and it was only then I allowed myself to begin evaluating the information that I had been provided and from that, formulating a plan.

I kept returning to one fact that had been casually noted in the report: The boy went fishing from a rock jetty every day at 16:00. I seized upon this key piece of information as the cornerstone.

My plan then fell neatly into place.

To seize the boy from the jetty, we would need to accomplish the mission by the sea. By air would be too obvious and by land would extend the mission beyond an acceptable time frame and heighten the risk of the team being discovered. The danger could be partially mitigated by procuring a vehicle, but doing so carried risks. No, I preferred to pack in all necessary equipment and not lead anything to chance.

The sea approach carried its own risks, but they could be mitigated through careful planning.

I frowned internally when I reviewed the tidal charts. It was unfortunate I had not received the mission earlier. Tonight was a full moon which brought with it the high tide. The moon would be waning, but would still be too bright for my taste. I preferred not to operate under a full moon, but I would willingly accept it for the high tide it delivered. The new moon would not be for another two weeks; a fortnight's delay I was positive von Graff would not accept.

I was cautious enough to address the difficulties the sea approach would present. Obviously, we would not be able to use a Kriegsmarine vessel and a U-boat would not be able to operate in the shallow waters.

Any other vessel we used would be clearly visible in the open water and would draw suspicion from the guard. We would need to approach the beach in small, inflatable crafts to avoid detection when the sun would be in the guard's eye. The rocks would pose a danger to the inflatables and make the tide unpredictable.

Finally, the Royal Navy boldly controlled the waters in the region. If we were successful in capturing the boy and returning to our vessel, we would need to avoid the Royal Navy at all costs. It would be impossible to outrun or outfight it.

With a cigarette dangling from my lips, I looked out the window at the beautiful morning, gathering my thoughts. It was difficult to believe that soon I would be returning to Africa. I had honestly thought I would never return to it again and yet my absence would be less than ten months. How ironic fate could be!

I was still looking out the window when my thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Luther. I could see him in the distance, striding purposely across the lush lawn to our narrow barracks.

The documents and my notes were already in order and it took me only a few seconds to slide them into the dossier. I quietly went to Hahn's room and woke him, ordering him to have the men ready to be briefed when I returned. I didn't expect my meeting with von Graff to last more than a few hours at the longest. I would purposely keep it brief and focused.

I met Luther outside the barracks and his eyes widened slightly at my readiness. "Let's go, Dietrich. Oberst von Graff is waiting for you."

I nodded slightly. "Of course. I would hate to keep him waiting after breakfast." We had no further words as he led me again to von Graff's office.

"You received the background documents several hours ago," von Graff said. "You've had more than enough time to analyze the information and prepare a plan. Provide me the details of your strategy, Dietrich," von Graff ordered.

"Herr Oberst, allow me ten minutes to brief you on the background information provided to me. I will then lead into my plan and how it will be executed."

Von Graff gave me an impatient nod, indicating for me to continue.

Without having to reference my notes, I briefed von Graff. Occasionally, I would hand him a document to emphasize my point. I ended my briefing after exactly ten minutes before spending an additional five minutes providing him with my plan. He allowed me to continue uninterrupted, surprising me. It was only after I had finished did he ask his first question.

"Your window of opportunity to take the boy from the rocks is very narrow, Dietrich, and carries risks. Will it provide your team sufficient time?"

"I have never had a mission which did not have some element of risk and this one is no different, Herr Oberst. Any of the possibilities present some type of risk, some higher than others. Taking the boy while he is fishing has the least risk, in my opinion."

I paused for a moment to light another cigarette. I began casually smoking it, relaxed and calm. My demeanor was the exact opposite of von Graff. He was worried and concerned, eager for the boy to be delivered to him.

"Yes, the window of opportunity is narrow," I agreed, "but it also provides us with many opportunities. The boy only has one guard when he fishes. And given the angle of the cove, the sun will be in the guard's eyes. The glare will hide our approach and enhance our ability to escape.

"Will you succeed? There is no room for error." Von Graff was leaning forward, anxious for me to reassure him.

"Yes, I will succeed," I assured him with confidence. "I came to fight and I came to win."

"Good. You will be held to your affirmation." Von Graff let out an audible sigh of relief.

"The men who provided information to the Germans will be the same ones providing details to the Allies. They are all opportunists, willing to sell themselves for the highest price at any moment. The Allies might come after the boy instead of negotiating for him."

"It will be foolish on their part to choose such an action. Rhodes is a heavily defended German stronghold. They would need to launch a full scale invasion to take the island. Besides, it will not be of your concern at that point."

I kept my face impassive. Yes, Rhodes had many soldiers here, but to my trained eye they were lax and not combat ready. The Allies would succeed if they used a focused and well-trained mission to retake the boy. It would not be necessary for the Allies to mount a full scale invasion. But, as von Graff had pointed out, it would not be of my concern. I would have already returned to France.

"You will be provided anything you believe necessary to succeed." Von Graff thought for a moment. "There are several local fishing boats who have worked with the Third Reich over the last few months. They produce results without asking questions or caring about unnecessary details. I will have Luther recommend one which will suit your needs."

I nodded slightly in acceptance. I would have preferred to select and hire the boat and crew on my own once I had determined the specifics of the mission, but time was critical.

"When will your planning be complete?" von Graff asked.

"The mission is contingent on the boat. I will need to discuss the boat's capabilities with its captain and plan accordingly around this factor. I will then be able to finalize the plans and meet with my men. I will remain in contact with you and will provide you regular updates."

"I would expect nothing less."

Von Graff suddenly arose, signaling the end to our meeting. I neatly gathered the documents and we stepped outside to Luther's desk. The adjutant immediately rose and snapped a salute.

"Luther, Dietrich will need a boat for his mission. You are to escort him to the dock and hire a boat and crew," ordered von Graff.

The adjutant gave a sharp nod of approval and a broad grin appeared on his face. "Jawohl, Herr Oberst. I do believe the Athene is available for the right price. I am positive that she will be perfect for Dietrich."


	6. Chapter 5

"The dock is nearby, Dietrich. It won't take long to reach it."

We walked in silence for several minutes before Luther finally spoke.

"Since you don't speak Greek, what other languages do you know?"

"French, English, Latin, Italian, several Arabic dialects, decent Spanish and basic Russian."

Luther's eyes widened slightly. "Remarkable, Dietrich. I'm sure we'll be able to find a common one with the captain given such an impressive list.

The Athene was a nondescript shipping vessel, one of hundreds fishing in the south Aegean region for generations. It smelt of fish and of diesel, but there was a faint odor about the vessel which I was unable to place, something from long ago reviving a distant memory. When I was unable to identify it, I placed it aside to focus on the captain.

The captain was tall and thin and had a dark, swarthy appearance, caused no doubt from the constant exposure to the sun. With his black, greasy hair tied messily at the nape of his neck, I couldn't stop myself from thinking how much he looked like a pirate. A few of his crew members were lounging around, looking at me suspiciously. They were obviously familiar with Luther and paid him little attention.

Luther spoke Greek to the captain for several minutes, occasionally indicating me. They laughed frequently and finally shook hands, indicating the deal had been finalized.

"Hauptmann Dietrich, Nikos Donis is the captain of the Athene. He speaks Italian so there should be no communication problems between the two of you," Luther explained, switching over to Italian.

"Donis is very familiar with the waters where you are heading. I have already given him a brief overview of your mission."

"Captain Donis," I said and shook hands with him. It took every ounce of my strength not to wipe off my hand afterwards on my trousers. His hands were soft and sweaty, not at all like a fisherman's hands should be like.

"Hauptmann Dietrich. It is an honor to be of service to you and the Third Reich," he said with a bow. "Now if you please, I will take you on a brief inspection of the Athene to ensure you of her capability. We can discuss what you need afterwards."

Although the Athene appeared to be in disrepair and in dire need of a coat of paint, the boat was solidly built and well maintained. It was obvious the fishing boat was rarely used for its intended purpose.

There was some fishing gear about, but not enough viable to provide a minimum living for those manning her. It contained excellent Rolls Royce engines, more powerful than what would be needed to support fishing. No, the Athene was used for smuggling and her real story lay in what I was not shown.

"The Athene will suit our needs, Captain," I confirmed. "We now need to discuss the details and begin planning. The mission's time frame is critical."

Donis quickly became all business. "Of course, of course," he said, waving his arm in a mock salute. "We can step into my cabin to maintain secrets and discuss the details."

The three of us crowded into the cabin and sat around a grimy table. The captain pulled out a bottle of ouzo and glasses and poured each of us a generous measure.

"Prost!" Donis said a little too loudly and a little too friendly as he clinked our glasses and downed his immediately. I took a small taste and was surprised to find the liquor to be excellent.

The smell I had noticed above deck was stronger here. I couldn't quite place it, but it was something familiar. It stirred a distant memory inside of me, something from the desert . . .

Donis interrupted my thoughts. "You've hired my boat and crew, Hauptmann Dietrich. Now is the time to tell me what you've hired them to do." Donis' eyes had narrowed and they contained a hard glint.

I pulled out a sea chart and showed him the destination. "You are to take me and my men here, to the coast of Libya. I will lead a smaller group ashore to obtain a British national. Once we have secured him, we will return to the Athene and return to Rhodes immediately."

"Obtain?" Donis asked with a snort. "You mean kidnap, don't you?" He proceeded to give a strong laugh. "So who are you kidnapping?"

I glared at Donis. I needed someone who could execute, not someone who was going to pass judgement on the job that he had been hired to do.

"He must be someone important, or probably, related to someone important. I frankly don't care who he is," Donis hastened to assure me. "I only ask because I will not be able to do business with the aggrieved party or operate in those waters again due to my involvement. I am a businessman, after all, and I need to think of my future." He laughed again, but the laugh did not reach his eyes.

"Dietrich's mission is to kidnap a young boy," Luther offered, effectively washing his hands of any involvement. I glared at him icily for providing too much information so early to Donis.

"Out to kidnap a child, eh? What has the world come to? Strange time to live."

"As you said, it is of no concern of yours, Captain," I informed him, looking him directly in the eye.

Donis immediately backed off, holding his hands out as if to placate me.

"True. It means nothing to mean as long as I am paid at the end of the day. "The Nazi higher ups must have big plans for the boy," he added casually, still fishing for information. I could see the greed rise in his eyes, calculating how much the boy would be worth if he negotiated his return separately.

"But, what you Nazis do is your business as long as I may continue to do mine," Donis said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Your assessment is wise, Captain," I emphasized. "I will be responsible for the boy while he is on board and will remain with him at all times. I will need a small cabin for him, and him alone, as I wish for him to remain isolated during the journey. He will not interfere with your operation under my protection."

"The cabin can be arranged," he readily agreed, not really caring. He poured himself a second drink, intent on the details.

"I want to be perfectly clear with you, Captain Donis. I and my men will do whatever is necessary to bring the boy safely to Rhodes." My voice was eerily calm as I looked him directly in the eye. "Do I make myself understood?"

Donis stared at me, challenging my authority before he finally backed down. "Yes, Hauptmann Dietrich. You have made yourself very clear."

"Good. Including myself, there will be a total of seven men plus light equipment and inflatable rafts. A few will remain on board the Athene during the mission in case she is challenged by an outsider." Both of us understood the real reason: The remaining men would prevent the Athene from leaving in case the situation became desperate.

I spread out the maps and charts across the small table.

"What is the travel time?" I asked.

Donis scratched his chin, thinking. "It will take about sixteen hours, depending on the tides. The forecast is for good weather the next week so there should be no problems."

"How close will you be able to anchor near the beach without drawing suspicion? I need to estimate the time to paddle from the boat to beach."

He continued rubbing his chin. "It should take you about fifteen minutes. I wouldn't dare move the Athene any closer to shore or it would raise suspicions."

I mentally calculated the time. "It is critical for us to be in position on the rocks at 16:00. We will allow eighteen hours for the journey, thirty minutes to arrive on the beach, thirty minutes to obtain him and thirty minutes to return. A total of nineteen and a half hours.

"We will depart tomorrow at 21:30, Captain Donis. The time includes an allowance for unforeseen delays.

I gathered up my documents and downed my remaining ouzo. "I and my men will return tomorrow at 21:00. Please have everything ready for the Athene to depart as we discussed."

We rose to leave when Donis called out.

"Hey, Luther!"

Donis reached into a drawer. He took out a package the size of a large bar of soap covered with brown paper and twine. Donis casually tossed the package to Luther who immediately pocketed it. At first I thought it was money, but the sizing was wrong. No, it was something else, probably part of what Donis smuggled.

"A small token of my gratitude for the referral."

"Of course." Luther responded with a broad grin. "Anytime. Always a pleasure doing business with you, Captain."

My mind was focused as we left the dock area. My plan was now in place. As much as I hated to admit it, I believed the Athene and Donis would work well. I would now review my plan with Hahn and brief my men on it.

There was one issue I needed to settle beforehand.

"Hauptmann Luther," I said formally. "I am the one assigned to lead this mission. Telling the captain the details of the mission before departing was a major breech confidentiality. Don't interfere again unless I request for your assistance."

Luther frowned at my chastising. "As you wish, Dietrich, but it doesn't really matter."

"Odd choice of words, Luther, for someone who has a vested interest in the mission's success."

"Someone with your background can't possibly believe von Graff's cockamamie plan will have any impact on the war. We both know the war is lost."

I stopped dead in my tracks. Luther was taking an extreme risk in confiding his true beliefs to me, an unfamiliar officer.

"Dietrich, even if you manage to return, do you honestly believe the Tommies will exchange Schilling for the boy? No. It is a feeble attempt by von Graff to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. He's trying to justify his comfortable existence here on Rhodes and to allow himself more time to strip the area of whatever riches it has remaining."

Luther shook his head in disbelief. "What's so pathetic is how he whole-heartily believes in his foolish plan. I myself prefer to wait out the war in this paradise until the Allies finally get around to retaking Rhodes. Then with any luck, I'll be sent to a nice, quiet POW camp in Canada."

It suddenly occurred to me why Luther wasn't being sent in my place. He spoke Greek, was familiar with the area and had the required expertise. And then it dawned upon me: I and my men were being sent on a suicide mission. Von Graff did not want to risk losing Luther so he had requested a substitute to do the dirty deed instead.

"Tell me, Luther, why aren't you leading this mission? You have the qualifications." I couldn't stop myself from asking him.

He laughed and took out his cigarettes and lit one up, not bothering to offer me one.

"Because, Dietrich." He blew a plume a smoke at me while still laughing. "You are considered expendable to the Third Reich while I am not."

I immediately felt my pride and arrogance rise to the surface. While I agreed the mission was preposterous and that Germany would never receive Schilling as part of an exchange, I would do my utmost to ensure its success while still protecting the boy. There was nothing I enjoyed more than a challenge, an opportunity to demonstrate what I capable of accomplishing.

"Really?" I asked coolly, as I took out my own pack of cigarettes. I slowly shook one and took my time lighting it. "I promise you, Luther, I will successfully return with the boy within four days and with all of my men. What happens after our return is beyond my control. I will have completed my part successfully. You and von Graff can do what you want to justify your postings and obtaining your riches."

With that and a grin, I left.


	7. Chapter 6

The key to a mission's success, as with any mission's, was simplicity. I believed the more complicated a plan became, the greater the odds for its failure.

My basic plan was simple: land on the beach, secure the raft, move into position, capture the boy, retreat to the raft and return to the Athene. If the plan went as planned, the British would be unaware of what had happened until we were far past the horizon.

The entire mission, though, was dependent on the accuracy of the gathered intelligence. If the information was not accurate or had been deliberately falsified for the price of Nazi gold, we would be condemned to failure.

The next twenty-four hours passed quickly.

I extensively reevaluated my plan and made a few minor adjustments after reviewing it with Hahn. I was satisfied the plan was now very tight and I had a high level of confidence in its success.

It was now time to brief my men.

I ordered the men to be gathered in a small instructional room located in our barracks. Their faces showed a mixture of curiosity mixed with eagerness and apprehension. They quickly came to order and were seated.

I stood in front of them and forced myself to remove all emotion and distaste from my mind. As their commanding officer, I could not and would not show them the doubts I possessed regarding the legitimacy of our mission.

"Men." My voice was strong and filled the room. "We were ordered to the Island of Rhodes on a special mission with the utmost confidentiality. I selected each of you without knowing the mission's details, confident that whatever the mission required, all of you would have the skills and experience necessary to ensure its success."

I allowed my words to sink in. Several grinned at the compliment, nodding their heads in agreement.

"I have received our mission and have completed its planning. I am now at liberty to share it with you."

I held all of their attention, but a few of the older, more experienced men shifted in their chairs. They possessed enough experience to understand I was about to detail how they could possibly be killed. The younger ones leaned forward in anticipation.

"Our mission is the following: we are to travel to Libya and capture a British national and return him alive to Rhodes. We are to accomplish the mission within the next sixty hours."

They began to murmur, wondering who the British could possibly be and the reason for taking him hostage.

"Order!" barked the febel and the men immediately silenced.

"Here is the British national we will be detaining." I slipped the boy's picture from the dossier and held it up.

Dead silence filled the room. I tried not to notice a few of the men elbow one another.

"I do not know the boy's name or his importance to the British war effort. It is critical, though, for him to be brought to Rhodes. Until we return, we will use no names, only ranks. We do not want to provide any information to the boy."

The silence continued. Their faces were stony and many had crossed their arms.

"The next sixty hours will be long and there is still much preparation work which must be completed before we depart on a locally hired fishing boat," I continued. "For the security of the mission, everyone will be confined to the immediate compound with no outside contact." I looked at each of them, to emphasize this importance.

"After we complete the mission, we will return to our previous duty in France. After," I paused for effect, "you enjoy a day's furlough on Rhodes to sample what it has to offer."

They continued to sit there with hard faces, obviously unhappy about what the mission entailed. The furlough bonus did not outweighing the bad situation. I inwardly sighed, unable to admit to them that I shared their disgust.

"Then if there are no questions, you are dismissed." The febel dismissed the men in a loud voice and they filed out.

I slowly returned to my own quarters, thankful for the privacy. My mind was racing and I sought to calm it. Despite their unspoken misgivings, the men would follow me and serve well, even given their distaste of the mission.

I sat down heavily in a chair, running my hand through my hair. I would have liked a brandy, but had brought no liquor with me. I took out my cigarettes and lighter, placing them on the desk, but I suddenly had no strength to light one.

I had been in my own quarters for only a few minutes when there was a tentative knock on the door. I frowned. I was not expecting anyone and did not particularly want company at the moment.

"Enter," I firmly called. "The door is open." I frankly expected the caller to be Luther or someone else from von Graff's staff. I was surprised to see Hahn enter shyly.

Hahn had been my Leutnant since I had arrived in France. An experienced officer, I kept expecting to lose him to a promotion or to an active combat unit. He had the happy-go-lucky personality of my best friend, Matthias Walther, and I had instantly liked him.

Hahn had an uncharacteristic look of tightness and seriousness about him. Something was obviously troubling him to seek me out privately. To make him feel more at ease, I decided to make his calling more informal.

"Herr Hauptmann," Hahn said, beginning to salute, but I casually waved him off.

"Leutnant, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? It's been a total of what? Five minutes since I last saw you?" I lightly joked as I motioned him to a chair. I shook out two cigarettes from my pack, offering him one. He rapidly took one and picked up my lighter, lighting my cigarette before his own. I sat there patiently smoking, waiting for Hahn to speak.

"Febel Schmidt is readying the weapons per our discussion."

I gave Hahn a nod, indicating my approval. I waited in silence for Hahn to continue, finally raising my eyebrows in question.

"Yes? Is there anything else on your mind?" I prompted him.

"Your lighter, Herr Hauptmann. I've always admired it. It is a beautiful piece of workmanship. Was it a gift from a Tommy friend?"

I gave an ironic laugh. "Yes, it was a gift from an Englishman although I'm unsure if I would classify him as a friend." Hahn gave me a puzzled look, but I did not elaborate.

I was amused at Hahn's stalling tactics. He must have seen my lighter a thousand times in the field and had never once commented on it before.

I looked Hahn directly in the eye. "My instinct tells me that you did not come here to discuss the workmanship of my lighter, Leutnant. There is something obviously on your mind you would like to discuss. Do you plan on sharing it with me or are we to continue making small talk as if we were on a first date together?"

Hahn pulled a flask from a pocket inside his tunic. He started to take a drink from it before quickly looking at me. I gave him a slight nod and he took a drink from it. Recapping it, he casually tossed it to me and I followed suit.

"You've had your drink, Leutnant. What is it you wish to say?" I was becoming impatient with him as much as I didn't want to. Hahn's current actions were very different than normal. He had always spoken frankly and honestly to me without any indecision.

I could still see him hesitate. "You may speak freely with me. Anything you choose to confide to me will be off the record."

The floodgates opened now that I had given him the freedom to speak openly.

"Herr Hauptmann, I would never disagree with you in front of the men. But the entire mission is distasteful. It is obvious the men share the same thoughts although they have not spoken directly to me about them."

"We don't have the luxury of choosing our orders, Leutnant," I said, lightly rebuking Hahn as von Kleist had done with me. I was not happy with the conversation's direction. Why did I feel this way? Was it because I also shared Hahn's and my men's disgust and did not have the luxury of expressing my thoughts to anyone?

"Herr Hauptmann, these orders are not why I am fighting, not what I am fighting for. I believe I have been betrayed by the . . ."

I made an immediate cutting motion across my throat to silence him. "Leutnant, there is still a few hours of daylight remaining. Would you care to take a walk with me and enjoy the late afternoon sunshine?"

A puzzled look crossed his face before he understood the reason for my sudden request. "Of course, Herr Hauptmann. It would be most enjoyable."

We stepped outside and began walking down to the beach.

I didn't break the silence for several minutes.

"Leutnant, I silenced you back in my quarters since I recognized the dangerous direction you were heading. While remote, there is the possibility my room has a listening device wired by the local officials. Our mission has a high level of attention and the commanding officers would want to ensure its success. Any detected dissent could be dealt with . . . harshly . . . for anyone even remotely involved in the conversation."

Hahn quickly colored. "I apologize, Herr Hauptmann. I never intended to cause you any difficultly, no matter how remote. You had always encouraged open thoughts from your subordinates and I believed it was important for me to express mine at the moment."

We paused a moment for each of us to take a drink from his flask again.

I walked down to the water's edge. I gazed out over its expanse, my hands clasped behind my back. The sea was a beautiful sight, its peace in contrast to the turmoil we were both experiencing.

"Leutnant, you may now freely continue to express your thoughts. As I previous stated, our conversation is off the record."

"Then I will do so, Herr Hauptmann." The words began to gush from him in a torrent. "I believed the Fuhrer when he said we would be fighting Bolshevism to save Germany from a red menace. I agreed with him so completely that I volunteered for the Heer. I didn't even wait to be called up. But instead, I am here, kidnapping young boys." He shook his head in disgust. "What does this mission have to do with fighting the Bolsheviks?"

"I would say nothing in the slightest, Leutnant, but it is not up to us to second guess the orders given to us by our superiors."

"None of us want to be here, in this God-forsaken war ran by a megalomaniac Austrian corporal who couldn't hit his ass militarily with both hands tied behind his back," Hahn spat.

I raised my eyebrows at the frankness of his words. "Why don't you tell me exactly how you feel, Leutnant, about the Fuhrer?"

I should have been reprehending Hahn, severely, but I could not bring myself to do so since I happened to agree with him. Instead, I picked up a rock and tossed it into the water, watching it quickly disappear.

"Herr Hauptmann, do you honestly think the war can be won, when it has come to the point of involving children?"

"No, I believe the war is lost," I responded frankly, surprised at my open admission to a subordinate. Now I was the one putting myself in extreme risk by admitting my true thoughts. I trusted, Hahn, though. Except for Ernst Hoffmann who had served under me in Africa, I trusted Hahn more than any of the other junior officers who had reported to me during the war.

"However, it is critical for us to continue serving as our oath dictates, Leutnant," I added, believing it was important for Hahn to understand that.

Hahn glanced around quickly to ensure we were alone. "Perhaps we should question our oaths. Herr Hauptmann, maybe there is an alternative."

I turned to him in shock, curious as to what magical solution he could possibly have for Germany. I suddenly was very uneasy about the direction of his conversation.

"And what exactly are you alluding to, Leutnant?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "I highly suggest for you to choose your words wisely."

"There is talk, vague, remote discussion on senior Wehrmacht officers seizing the government by disposing of the Fuhrer."

I forced myself not to look around quickly to see if anyone was within earshot listening to our treasonous conversation. I did not want to call attention to us. I again reached for a stone, and threw it into the water, watching it skip several times before it sank.

"Are you involved?" I asked him in a low, icy voice. I now turned to look at him, my expression very serious. His face immediately flushed and he was suddenly at a loss for words.

"Answer me," I quietly ordered him.

"No," he finally was able to stammer, his normal bravado completely dissipated. "I am not."

I respected him for looking at me and bravely meeting my eyes.

"If you know what is best for you, and not to mention, your family's welfare, you will avoid becoming involved in any of these plans." I indicated for us to leave, returning the way we had walked.

"Your words, earlier," I began, not sure how to tactfully complete my thought to a subordinate. "There are others who might not be so generous and understanding when they hear them as I have been. Be careful who you share them with," I warned him.

I could see Hahn turn a shade paler. "What exactly do you mean, Herr Hauptmann?"

"Exactly what I said. There is discussion and action among the traditional Wehrmacht which could be disastrous if it doesn't succeed. It is the one piece of advice my father provided to me the last time I was on leave that I have taken to heart."

I rarely spoke of my family, even less of my father, to anyone. It was extremely atypical of me to do so, especially to a subordinate.

"I would have thought, Herr Hauptmann that you, more than any officer to which I have reported, would have wanted to become involved in these actions, to return Germany back to its true roots." His voice was level and I could detect, hopeful.

I had turned to leave, but at his challenging words, I whirled to confront him. His face was honest and radiated hope for my involvement. I found myself being brutally honest to him about my beliefs.

"Leutnant Hahn, as much as I despise Germany's leadership and how they have sentenced her to a disastrous future, I willingly swore an oath of loyalty to these men when I accepted my commission. My loyalty condemns me to honor my oath, how misplaced it might be, and even though my loyalty has been betrayed to those I had entrusted it to."

I envied the bravery that those conspirators possessed. I had a few acquaintances who were involved and their courage never ceased to astound me. I had faced death countless times on the battlefield when opposing vastly superior numbers yet my bravery paled in comparison to that of the conspirators.

"And if these plots do succeed in the elimination of their prime objective, I seriously doubt the remaining government officials, let alone the SS, will relinquish power readily or without a devastating fight. It will end badly and be a catastrophe for everyone involved and everyone surrounding them."

Hahn grew suddenly pale and started to ask me more questions when I abruptly cut him off.

"Eventually, the Allies will provide justice to the Third Reich leaders. None of them will escape. The Allies will not allow it," I added for emphasis. Although Germany would be cleansed of the sins committed by the Third Reich, its deeds would always hang over the heads of future German generations.

Hahn pondered my words for several steps before stopping. "Will you face Allied justice, Herr Hauptmann?" Hahn asked frankly.

I turned to look at Hahn, taken back by his question. The only other man who had broached the subject to me was Wilhelm Meyer, when I had assumed his command in the desert. Meyer had done so out of jealousy for my successes. Could it possibly be two years had passed since his accusations?

While I had a clear conscious of my own service record, there were the voices in my head which would always rise to the surface no matter how firmly I tried to quiet them. The death of the Frenchman still reverberated in my mind, a clear war crime as any I had witnessed.

Finally, I shook my head, having weighed and measured myself.

No, I had nothing to hide. I was proud of my service to Germany and the way I had chosen to conduct myself while carrying it out.

"Leutnant, every German soldier will face justice from the Allies, including me. I will do so with a clear conscious. I have served honorably and have committed no acts that would constitute a war crime."

Hahn contemplated my words. "Do you regret serving?" he asked suddenly.

I stopped and looked at him, puzzled for his question.

"You come from a family with a long history of serving and graduated from the prestigious military academy. Did you think it would be this?" Hahn waved his arm indicating the Nazi regime.

"No, not this," I said shaking my head sadly. "And do I regret it? No, it is much more than Hitler. My experience was not all about him, it was about the Wehrmacht. But I didn't recognize this until much later."

I clasped my hands behind my back and began slowly walking along the shore with Hahn joining me. An occasional strong wave lapped against our boots.

"It will be our responsibility afterwards to rebuild Germany again from what remains to what she truly represents." I took a deep breath. "We will need to remove the poison which is destroying her from within."

"And what do you think will remain of Germany, Herr Hauptmann?"

My response to his frank question was equally blunt and honest.

"Unlike the last war, there will be no doubt in Germany as to which country lost."

I paused before continuing. I looked out across the sea, in the direction my beloved Germany lie. There was no doubt in my mind of what would be left of her when the war ceased.

I closed my eyes in despair, wanting to block out the future which was quickly approaching.

"There will be nothing remaining. Absolutely nothing."


	8. Chapter 7

We quietly readied ourselves when we neared the Libyan coast. On deck, we said little as we gathered our thoughts along with our weapons. The febel made a final pass through and ensured all the weapons were ready. Given the mission's constraints, we carried only rifles, side arms, a limited number of grenades and our combat knives.

All of us understood that we would not last long in a heavy or a lengthy firefight with the British.

We had received little rest during the voyage. Several of the men had suffered from motion sickness, and had to vomit over the rail. I had silently cursed von Graff and his secrets. All the men I had chosen were good, but I could have selected different soldiers who were not inflicted with the malady if I had known more details. No matter what their condition, they would be forced to continue.

"We're soldiers, not sailors. This god-forsaken boat doesn't bother you?" Hahn had asked me between retches.

"No," I laughed. "I crewed at the academy and have frequently sailed on lakes. I love the water. You'll become acclimated to the motion quickly," I assured him.

Even though I had had the men rotate off duty, there was the heightened tension of the mission which had prevented us from actually sleeping. I myself had only dozed on and off for a few minutes. My men were holding up well despite the motion sickness and lack of sleep.

I could feel the adrenaline begin to surge within me even though my mind remained deadly calm. I reiterated my final orders to Hahn. He would remain on the Athene along with two other men. I normally avoided dividing my team, but the situation required it.

I did not trust Donis in the slightest.

I could not take the risk he would strand us or betray us to the British to receive a higher compensation than what he was receiving from the Germans.

I glanced at my watch. "The guard and the boy should be appearing within thirty minutes," I confirmed to Hahn. "We want to avoid any suspicion as to why the Athene is in these waters. Ensure you and your men remain out of the guard's sight or anyone else on shore."

Hahn's face was serious as he gave me only a short nod in reply. We both knew that it wasn't necessary for me to iterate that the sighting of a single German soldier would compromise the mission, dooming us on the shore.

My next orders were brief and clear to Hahn. "You are to force the Athene to remain here at all costs," I ordered. "My orders include eliminating the captain and crew if necessary to prevent her from leaving."

Hahn gave a brief nod again. "Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann."

I gave Hahn my final order without hesitation. "You are to leave the raiding party and immediately depart if it becomes obvious that the mission has failed. You possess enough experience and knowledge to know if the final step will become necessary."

Hahn began to protest, but I immediately silenced him with a stern look.

"Leutnant, I have already discussed this with you during the planning stages. We will already be lost. There is no reason for all the men to become casualties. Seize the opportunity to save the remaining men to fight again."

His eyes met mine and I could see the strength grow behind them. "Understood, Herr Hauptmann."

"Good." I gave him a faint smile. "Carry on."

Hahn gave me a sharp salute.

I closed my eyes for an instant and gave a silent prayer:

"Imaginative God, creator of all that is, inspire me who is overwhelmed by the complexities of life. Send through me the great rushing wind of your spirit to stir my hope and breathe into me new life. Rekindle in me the flame of your spirit, that with energy and enthusiasm I may rise to meet the challenges of my life. I pray to you for the safe deliverance of my men and of the young boy, and to minimize the taking of any lives."

I then departed with the three remaining men.

The four of us climbed down to the large inflatable raft. I had decided to use a single raft; multiple rafts would split my men further and it would be too difficult to contain the boy.

Hahn gave a slight wave along with a forced grin as we shoved off. I looked up at the sun briefly. As I had predicted, the sun would be in the eyes of anyone on shore looking out over the water. The raft would be difficult to spot, especially if we remained low in the water.

We began paddling, our eyes fixated on the rocky shore. We were calm and orderly with a clear sense of urgency but without any evidence of rushing. To rush would lead to sloppiness and mistakes, a luxury which we could not afford.

We easily made the beach within fifteen minutes as Donis had predicted. We grounded the raft and waded the remaining few feet through the surf. The men quickly hid the raft under a rocky alcove where it would remain out of sight.

I checked my watch again. We were perfectly on schedule.

After a final weapons check, I led my men away from the cove.

The rocky cliffs formed a natural pier. According to the reconnaissance report, the boy would fish from the farthest southeastern rock jutting out into the sea. We would approach from the northwest, to easily corner him. His only escape would be to leap into the sea, an action I seriously doubted he would do so given the height and heavy surf below.

We silently climbed the large rocks, taking care not to dislodge any of the smaller loose stones. It was unlikely the guard would be able to hear anything over the roar of the surf, but I wanted to avoid any curiosity or suspicion.

I halted my men when we neared the top. We would still be out of sight from above. We remained crouched down and waited for the boy and the guard to arrive.

It took only a few minutes for them to make their appearance.

From our hiding place, I could hear them approach, the guard calling out to the boy for him to be careful on the rocks. The guard's voice soon faded away and I assumed he was leaving for the watchtower.

We waited for five minutes to allow the guard sufficient time to reach the top of the watchtower. I then gave my men the signal to commence.

We climbed to the top of the rocky jetty and there was the boy, quietly fishing. He was unmistakable from the photographs I had been given. The boy was so unbelievably blonde. He was the personification of the perfect Aryan boy so obsessed upon by the Nazis.

Still crouching down, I maneuvered into position. The guard had not seen us. I counted on him being bored and not focusing on his duty. He would probably consider such duty a mundane responsibility with nothing to expect. What could possibly happen when guarding a young boy fishing?

The boy unexpectedly turned to look back over his shoulder. I immediately halted and crouched down again, melting into the rocks.

He had not seen me.

The boy looked up at the guard. He then smiled and jauntily waved at him.

I relaxed and emitted a sigh of relief. I slowly began moving forward again but stopped suddenly, concerned at the guard's next unanticipated action.

The guard had begun climbing down the watchtower. I melted into the rocks to conceal myself. My team men noticed my action and quickly did the same.

My mind quickly began anticipating his actions and how I would react. Why would the guard leave the watchtower? Had he seen us? I dismissed the possibility. It would have been impossible for him to have spotted us since we were maneuvering from out of his sight line. No, there must be a different reason. Had the Athene possibly triggered his suspicion?

The guard wasn't hurrying so there appeared to be no urgency on his part. He slowly began walking towards the boy and returned his friendly wave. I again relaxed.

And then the boy spotted us.

The look of alarm on his face was unmistakable. It would be impossible for the guard not to understand its meaning. There was not time for us to reach deeper cover.

I acted immediately, my training and instinct taking over.

I quietly pulled out my knife and threw it hard at the guard. The knife caught him squarely in the middle of his back, piercing a vital organ. He unsuccessfully groped for the knife, but it was futile. He crumpled and fell off the rocks into the cove, never uttering a sound.

I returned my attention the boy.

The boy shrank back in horror at what he had witnessed. Why didn't he call out? Was his silence due to shock? Or, we would be the only ones to hear him and he realized such an action would be futile? Speculation had no purpose and would add no value and I shoved it aside unanswered.

I motioned for my men to seize the boy. They immediately moved forward and grabbed him by the arms. The boy was no match for them and they began pulling him back down the rocks despite his struggles.

And yet, the boy still did not cry out. My mind registered this odd fact a second time. Why did I keep returning to this anomaly? Finally, I decided to place it aside once and for all. It was irrelevant to the success of our mission. I would not dwell on it again.

We had what we came for. It was critical for us to now escape. Every second we remained in Libya exponentially increased the odds of us being captured and the mission failing.

I quickly led us back the way we had come. The raft was pulled from its hiding place and dragged to the water. The boy was placed in the raft's center and we shoved the raft into the surf. We leaped unto the raft and began strongly paddling. We passed the guard's lifeless body, already being pulled out to sea by the tide. The boy brought his fists up to his eyes, shielding himself from the grisly sight.

We steadily paddled back to the Athene. I kept an eye on the boy, not wanting him to interfere with the paddling or to throw himself overboard. Instead, he sat there quietly and appeared to still be in shock.

Donis had already casually maneuvered the Athene closer to the shore as to not draw any suspicion. The maneuver shortened the distance by a few minutes, critically assisting us. We gratefully reached the Athene and brushed up alongside it.

Hahn instantly appeared and I handed the boy up to him for safekeeping. A crew member placed a short ladder over the side. My men clamored up it reaching safety. Before I followed them, I withdrew a second knife and made several slashes to the raft, deflating and sinking it in just a few seconds. The raft had served its purpose. There was no time to retrieve it and I did not want it to potentially provide any clues to the British.

I saw Hahn take the boy below deck for his safety. I silently indicated to Donis to immediately depart. The boat did so calmly as not to draw any attention to her. It was as if she had completed her haul of fish for the day and it was time to return to port. It was only when we were out of eyesight from the coast did Donis increase our speed. Now it had become a dire race for us to quickly return to Rhodes.

I watched without emotion as Libya quickly retreated into the distance.

I had been on African soil for less than sixty minutes.


	9. Chapter 8

We would have at least an hour head start before the boy was discovered missing. With the small, swift fishing boat, the lead time would allow us enough time to be beyond the horizon and to escape into the rapidly approaching darkness.

I determined we should be able to make Rhodes without incident if there were no Allied vessels in the vicinity. It would not bode well for us if we were challenged by an Allied vessel. I had no trust in the crew, and even less in the captain, not to immediately betray us for some type of reward from the enemy. While my men could easily overpower the crew and kill them if necessary to prevent them from talking, it was an act I would use as only a last resort.

Needless to say, a firefight with the Royal Naval would be ugly. The Athene had no armaments or shielding plates of any kind. We would be forced to defend it with light arms only, obviously no match for a British ship. No, the Athene's only weapon was her speed. If a firefight ensued, I made a vow I would not have the boy wounded, or even worse, killed. If necessary, I would surrender to prevent any harm from coming to him.

I continued to scan the horizon for any signs of pursuers. I found myself slowly relaxing as each minute passed. When darkness finally fell, the second part of our mission was a success. It was highly unlikely that we would be found in the darkness. We would reach Rhodes shortly after sunrise tomorrow. Only after we had safely delivered the boy, though, would I finally be able to relax completely.

After an hour had passed, the adrenaline which had been pumping through my system finally dissipated. I now spoke my first words since returning to the Athene.

"Bring the boy to me," I ordered.

I would retain the boy with me during the remainder of the journey. I did not want him out of my sight for even an instant. If necessary, I would kill again to protect his safety.

The boy was brought up on deck, visibly distraught. He continued to fight and struggle against the two men. He attempted to jump overboard and was stopped at the last possible moment before he cleared the rail.

In sympathy, I asked myself if I would be reacting any differently if I had been abducted at his age by foreign nationals and witnessed a man being killed. I tried to convince myself that I would be forever the good soldier's son, accepting the situation stoically, but I was fooling myself.

The boy was brought before me. I could not help but notice how he shrank away from me. No doubt he was scared of me, the man he had witnessed blatantly killing his guard, or in his eyes, murdering him.

"Young man," I said firmly, using a formal address the British would use with a boy. It had no results and he continued to struggle.

"Boy! You are to immediately cease your actions," I barked using my sharpest command voice. The boy, along with a few of the crew and my men, jumped with a start at the sound of my crisp authority. It was strong enough to break the cycle of his struggles to enable me to speak to him calmly.

"I am a German officer in command of the team which brought you here," I explained to him in English. My voice still contained the unmistakable element of command.

"Under my authority and by my oath of honor as a German officer, no harm will come to you under my care. You will be treated as well as possibly given the circumstances. It is important, though, for you to follow my orders, for your safety as well as for my men's safety. Do you understand me?"

The boy merely looked at me, the hate emanating from his eyes. I repeated my question, this time with more force, but with no different results.

"I will then take your silence as an affirmative," I responded, dismissing his defiance to my authority.

I sighed inwardly. I truly enjoyed children, but had been around them rarely. The upper echelon German society in which I had been raised was still very much in the "children should be seen and not heard" mentality.

The children I had frequently interacted with were Matthias Walther's. I was not a demonstrative man by nature, but with his children, I found myself at ease and my natural aloofness would quickly melt away. I frequently would rough-house and play games with them, interacting in a way I had never experienced with my own father or other male family members. Of course, I had ceased visiting his children once my desires for their mother, Margot, had begun to overtake me.

I had frequently vowed that if I was lucky enough to have the son foretold by Perkins, I would be very much involved with his life on a daily basis. He would never be raised as I had been, by a distant and controlling father.

But, I had to survive the war in order for this to happen.

I was brought back to the immediate present. Darkness was surrounding us. The boy must be tired from his ordeal. I should provide him the opportunity to rest. I turned my attention to my men.

I motioned Hahn to our side. "Leutnant, continue to shadow the crew and remain diligent," I said in German, so the boy and crew would not understand. "One man is to be continually on guard outside our cabin. Rotate the watches so the men receive some rest and remain alert."

Hahn gave me a sharp salute. "Of course, Herr Hauptmann. I will see to it immediately."

"You are now to accompany me with no further issues," I sternly told they boy. There was no question in my voice that I would not tolerate any disobedience from him. "No doubt you are tired and would like to rest. I will take you below deck for the remainder of the journey."

I turned and left, not bothering to see if the boy was following me. He would not dare to defy me. It took only a minute to arrive at the cabin. We entered and the guard positioned himself outside.

I indicated for the boy to sleep on the greasy rack. "You still have a long journey ahead of you. I highly suggest for you to rest. It will also make the time pass more quickly for you."

The rack was filthy and I frankly didn't blame him for not wanting to touch it. I myself would have prepared to sleep on the deck which appeared to be somewhat cleaner. I stripped off my tunic and laid it over the dirty linens, giving him something somewhat clean to sleep on.

His response was to go over to a small stool and sit down defiantly. He looked at me, the anger clearly showing on his face.

"As you wish," I said brusquely. I was now becoming annoyed with the child. "But you are not to make any noise."

We continued looking at another, each of us staring down the other. Although I was not supposed to know, I couldn't stop myself from asking him the most obvious question.

"Boy, what is your name?"

He continued to glare at me, not saying a word.

A remote thought came to me. Perhaps the boy did not understand English. I repeated myself in French, Italian and finally Latin. I could tell he understood the French, but not the other two languages.

I began speaking to him in French again when he attempted to speak. He was unable to form the words, and it was almost as if he was choking on them. I suddenly remembered how he had never cried out earlier when we had captured him.

Something immediately came to my mind.

"Are you mute?" I asked in English, touching my lips with my fingers. The boy knitted his brows in a harsh frown. I had my answer.

"I understand," I responded, softening my tone slightly, before becoming professional again. The boy would be in my custody for less than a day. It probably would not be necessary for him to speak.

"There is work I must complete. You are not to disturb me."

Time passed slowly. I was bored so I could only imagine how he was feeling. I had the majority of my report completed when I noticed a slight movement from the boy.

I glanced over only to find him still staring at me impassively. Believing I had been mistaken, I returned to writing my report. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him mug a face at me, before again transforming himself into the personification of innocence when I looked his way.

The defiant dickens, I thought internally. But I could hardly blame him after what he had experienced over the last several hours.

I brought my report up as if I was reviewing it, covering my face as I did so. I then rotated my body in the chair to face him. I estimated when he would be making a face at me, and then I did the same, pulling down the report so he could see the face I was returning at him.

The surprised look on his face was priceless, fleetingly replaced by a look of respect. He soon returned to his standard impassive look.

I had worked as much as I cared to on my report, and I tossed it aside. I would complete it later. There was something about the boy which suddenly touched me and I wanted to capture it. I went to my belongings and brought out my drawing pad and charcoals which I always tried to keep with me.

I put an unlit cigarette between my lips to help me focus and relax. I slowly sharpened a charcoal, as I studied the boy's face for light and an angle. Satisfied that I saw what I wanted, I propped the pad on my knee and began sketching him.

I indicated for him to smile, but he merely returned my stare. I didn't want to, but I captured his sadness, especially around the eyes. There seemed to be something beyond his captivity driving his sadness, concealed behind those light, green eyes.

The boy instantly became aware of what I was doing. He continued to sit still and the sadness seemed to gradually lessen.

I drew him for almost an hour before I finally placed down the pad and charcoal, satisfied with my efforts. He sat there for a moment before his curiosity finally overcame him. He jauntily walked over and gestured at the pad, demanding to see my work of him.

Smiling, I handed it to him. His eyes darted over his likeness on the page, occasionally looking at me. He finally gave me a short nod, indicating his approval.

He stood there for a moment before gesturing at the pad, wanting to look through the other pages. I returned his nod, giving him my approval.

The boy started at the beginning and slowly went through the pad, looking at each drawing I had signed and dated. I had begun the pad shortly before the war began, sketching various items which had captured my eye. Occasionally, he looked at me for a description.

"The estate where I live back in Germany." He gestured with his hands. "Yes, it is large. No, I do not own it. It belongs to my parents. I only visit there on rare occasions."

The boy turned the page. "A horse I used to ride when I was home on leave. His name was Maximus." I viewed the magnificent hunter with sadness, knowing the beast was probably dead after being commandeered for the war effort.

He continued to turn the pages. "A panzer I commanded in France."

After the panzer, there was the torn remnants of a page I had savagely ripped out. The drawing had been of a decimated French chapel destroyed by my unit in the early days of the war. When I realized what I had drawn, I had destroyed my work.

I had not been capable of sketching afterwards. Almost two years had passed until I had picked up my charcoals again.

The boy looked at the ragged remainder of the page puzzled, gently touching what remained of it. He looked up at me, the question clearly in his eyes, wanting to know what had happened to the drawing. I shrugged, not wanting to tell the boy that I had destroyed the drawing of my German triumph.

Realizing I was not going to answer his question, he in turn shrugged his shoulders and moved on.

The boy turned a few blank pages until Sergeant Sam Troy's strong features leaped from the page. Encountering Troy for the first time had inspired me to begin drawing again. I had sketched him and added his name in my bold signature.

I didn't say anything about Troy's portrait. The boy kept indicating the drawing for an explanation, each stronger than the last. I attempted to turn the page, but he wouldn't allow me to.

"An acquaintance," I finally said, to put an end to his questions. My answer seemed to satisfy the boy. The boy kept staring at the drawing, seemingly mesmerized by Troy. He wouldn't be the first, I thought wryly. Finally, he moved to the next page.

"A soldier reporting to me," I explained as Leutnant Ernst Hoffmann's friendly face greeted him. Hoffmann had developed into an excellent officer and was currently a POW in the United States, held at a POW camp in Wyoming.

The only sound in the cabin was the soft turning of pages. Occasionally, he would gesture for an explanation before continuing his review. At one moment, he picked up my hand, stained from the charcoal. He held it softly, turning it over as it to what magic it contained in order to produce such work.

I kept looking at him, gradually not responding to his gestures. He was the right age to be my own son, I thought. I was now thirty-two. More than physically old enough to be a father, but definitely not ready to be one. Especially not when I was engulfed by a war.

He took my hand and pointed to the next drawing, returning me to the moment. Agathe's lovely features greeted me. Normally, I only sketched in black charcoal, but for Agathe, I had added some faint pastel coloring to her portrait. It had brought her drawing to life. It looked more like a photograph than a sketching.

I found my face softening. My God, my heart ached and I missed her greatly. It had been almost ten months since I had seen her. I suddenly felt the hunger for her embrace, the overwhelming fierce desire for her.

The boy looked at her and then at me, his finger pointing at her then me, rapidly back and forth.

"My fiancée," I said gently. He smiled slightly and then rolled his eyes, a common gesture for a boy in any culture when it came to love between adults.

I uncharacteristically opened up to the boy. "You are the first one to be informed of our engagement," I said. "No one else is aware of it so you must keep my confidence. It will be our secret."

He gave a look of superiority, puffing out his chest to look important.

I was still looking at the boy when he moved to the next page. He inhaled sharply before brightly blushing red. Unsure of what had caused his reaction, I glanced down at the page. It was a full nude drawing I had done of Agathe when I had last seen her in Italy. I had completed the drawing the last evening I was with her, before being ordered to France. I had completely forgotten the nude followed her portrait in the sketchbook.

Agathe had posed for me lounging on a settee, looking at me openly. There was nothing shameful or sexual in the picture; it was just a beautiful art portrayal of a lovely woman. I was positive, though, the boy was not used to seeing such a sight.

"My fiancée again," I explained.

I found myself slightly coloring before I reached down and gently turned the page for him. He tried to return to the page of the nude, but I firmly focused him on the following drawing, a classical sketch of Norte Dame Cathedral in Paris.

He had turned a few more pages when I became aware of an odd odor. It was the same odor I had noticed when I first boarded the Athene and later in the captain's cabin. The odor was now much stronger and fresh. I looked down at the boy. He had wrinkled his nose indicating he also could smell it.

"You are to remain here," I firmly told him. "I will have the guard step in for your protection."

I opened the door and the narrow passage way held a thin haze of smoke.

"Herr Hauptmann, what is causing the odor and smoke?" asked Unteroffizier Klein standing watch.

I ignored his question. "Unteroffizier, you are to step inside and guard the boy until I return. No one else is to enter. Shoot anyone who attempts to enter without me being here. I will return in a few moments."


	10. Chapter 9

I quickly walked the few yards to the captain's cabin and entered it without knocking. The room was thick with the acrid smoke. Donis was sitting at the small table, lazily smoking a small pipe.

I now remembered the odor's source.

"You smelled it and came to join me, eh Hauptmann? We can celebrate the success of the mission. Together."

"The mission will not be completed until we land at Rhodes and I deliver the boy. You should be up on the deck ensuring its success," I said acidly. "You are unfit to command if you are under the influence of drugs."

"Relax, Hauptmann," he said with a laugh. "I've smuggled in these waters hundreds of times since the war began. I haven't been caught once. I have just a vested interest as you do for its success. I don't receive my final payment until I deliver you and the boy."

Donis deeply inhaled from the pipe. He did not release the smoke for several seconds, his eyes closed in bliss. He finally opened his eyes and spoke.

"Perhaps I am not smoking drugs, just strong Turkish tobacco," he said almost playfully.

"It's not 'Turkish tobacco'," I said. I know exactly what you are smoking." There was no mistaking the anger in my voice.

"Tell me, how does such a fine, stiff and formal Prussian officer as yourself know about hashish?"

My blouse had short sleeves and he quickly looked at my arms. They were still darkly tanned even after all these months had passed.

"I see, I see! You must have been part of the fabled Afrika Korps before its ignoble defeat. No doubt it was in Africa where you first came into contact with hashish." He inhaled deeply again from the pipe before continuing. "Tell me, did you enjoy it?"

I hesitated slightly before answering. "My service in Africa is no business of yours, Captain."

Donis' response was to burst out laughing. "Ah! You have given me my answer, haven't you, by not giving me an answer at all."

I narrowed my mouth and said nothing, likely just increasing his suspicions.

The captain was grinning widely. He indicated the pipe, offering it to me again. "My offer still stands."

The wave of desire slowly rose within me and I attempted to push it aside, but was unsuccessful. Smoking hashish wasn't like sharing a harmless drink or a cigarette with a commanding officer or a subordinate.

It was too soon after my heroin addiction, I warned myself. Hashish was a much milder drug than heroin, but I didn't trust myself for it not to trigger my deeper obsession. If more time had passed, I rationalized, I would be able to use hashish sparingly without it triggering the deeper heroin craving.

Donis was obviously aware of my inner struggles and appeared amused by it.

"Take it. I know you want it," he said softly.

I couldn't stop myself from reaching for the small pipe, holding its delicate shape in my hand. I could smell its pungent odor seductively calling me. I had thought its odor distasteful in the past, but now it had become very fragrant to me.

I placed the glass pipe to my lips and began to inhale.

A smug look of satisfaction appeared in Donis' eyes.

I stopped myself and slowly replaced the pipe on the table. I took a deep breath of air and took a step away from it.

"I have no desire for it," I lied. I forced myself to ignore the pipe. If I looked at it I would become fixated by it. And then . . .

"On the contrary, I think you very much desire it. You've had it before. Your evasiveness is a dead giveaway."

The captain was correct. I had used hashish a few times during my posting in Africa, but only due to the professional necessities at the time.

I had been at a few meetings with local chieftains when they had begun smoking it. They thought nothing of openly using the drug which was common to the African area.

The chieftains had offered the pipes to me, knowing that I smoked tobacco. I would have greatly offending them if I had refused their offers. I had briefly inhaled only a few times on each occurrence, strictly out of politeness.

I had felt the impact of the hashish after a relatively short time, a very enjoyable surprise for me. I remembered it being pleasurable on those occasions although I had easily dismissed those stirrings at the time. After the fact, I had never given it a second thought.

Hashish had been readily available during my entire deployment in Africa. Yet I had had no desire to pursue it then. I had preferred using cigarettes, alcohol and women to relax and unwind when I was off duty.

In remembering my pleasant experiences, hashish would have done a better job of melting away my stress than the other vices. It would have helped me deal with the constant tension of the Rat Patrol and my underlying concern I would be accused of collaborating with the enemy.

I wish now that I had privately explored using hashish. After my blissful introduction to drugs through Guest, I was now much more open and tolerant of people them, understanding the tranquility they brought the user, during both stressful and relaxing periods.

Donis indicated the pipe again, pushing it closer to me. He was baiting me. "Just a few puffs, Hauptmann, enough to take away the edge and anxiety of today's mission. You've worked hard and deserve something to help you relax."

I pondered why Donis was so eager to smoke the hashish. Did he want me incapacitated so he could negotiate separately with the British for the boy's return?

"Your men needn't know you've had a taste," he continued. "They probably don't even know what it is. Only I would know, and surely you can trust me to keep your secret. And don't worry. I promise the effects will have worn off by the time we reach Rhodes."

Donis continued his attempt to seduce me. "Besides, what's the big deal about it? It's just hashish; it's not like it is heroin."

I was unable to control my eyes from widening slightly when he mentioned heroin. I could sense my pulse quickening, a tingling in my body, the desire lying in wait, the euphoria wanting to reemerge at his mere utterance of the opiate.

Donis instantly picked up my reaction and looked at me intently. "My goodness, Hauptmann! Have you used heroin, too? Even Luther only uses hashish as he doesn't like the stigma of the drug. As for me, I've never tried it. Don't like the needle aspect."

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I had once felt the same way about heroin until I had been properly and blissfully introduced. And as for the needles? The anticipation of the needle sliding into my skin was sensuous, the prick of it divine with what it was delivering.

"Hauptmann, you _are_ a man of the world. Much different than the majority of the other tightly wound Nazis I have worked with in the past. They think even smoking tobacco is evil!

"And here you are: An upstanding Wehrmacht officer who has used hashish and heroin and who knows what other drugs. I never would have thought you the type. I can only imagine what other pleasures you indulge in when you are not gallantly running around being an officer for the Furher. I'm positive drugs have lowered your inhibitions even further."

Hearing Donis mention the drug had triggered a reaction within me. I began to struggle internally. I thought I had put my heroin addiction to rest, but obviously I had not.

I wanted to ask Donis if he by some remote chance, did he happen to have any heroin on board or where he could readily procure it? Just a very small amount, mind you . . . Not to be used now or on Rhodes, but when I returned to France, and only on very stressful days, like when I had encountered the partisans or dealt with the SS.

Donis easily read my internal struggle.

"I have connections on Rhodes which could supply you with heroin at a good price," he slyly offered. "Or, would you prefer to keep your drug use at just the hashish level?"

I couldn't stop myself from looking at the pipe. It was lying there innocently with a slight wisp of smoke escaping from it, beckoning me.

My men would never have to know; I would be in the cabin with the boy for the remainder of the journey. The boy certainly wouldn't realize that I had been using drugs. The effects would surely dissipate by the time we arrived in the morning. Donis had assured me they would.

I dismissed the thought. It was not a good idea to take the drug while I was on a mission. Now, if the hashish had been offered to me after I had completed the mission, and I was off duty relaxing on Rhodes, then it would be acceptable, I rationalized.

I turned to escape.

"Mind yourself, Captain," I said, my voice deadly and calm. My back was to him so he would be unable to witness my internal struggle any further. "I will not tolerate having my mission compromised for any reason. I will hunt you down like a rabid dog if you should cause me to fail."

I quickly left the small cabin, closing the door behind me. I closed my eyes and leaned up against the bulkhead to steady myself for a moment.

I was lightly trembling. A part of me felt weak, but a larger part felt stronger. I had been offered drugs and had successfully turned them down. Yes, I had desired them very strongly, but I had not accepted them. I had even turned down the captain's offer for him to procure heroin for me.

I straightened up and gathered myself. Yes, I had turned the corner and I had my drug addiction under control.

I quickly went up on deck and checked the remainder of the crew. They were sober and aptly sailing the Athene. I reminded my men to remain diligent and not to become complacent. My experience warned me how easy it was to relax after a mission's difficult phase only to be visited by disaster at the last moment.

I returned to the small cabin and knocked on the door.

"Yes?" asked the suspicious Klein inside.

"It is I, the Hauptmann."

"Is anyone with you?" he questioned, still suspicious. I was satisfied to see how he was following my orders exactly.

"No, I am alone." I could hear him give a sigh of relief before he opened the door and stepped back into the hallway.

"What was it, Herr Hauptmann?"

"He was smoking a tobacco commonly found in the Middle East," I half-way explained.

"Do you mean some type of drug?" Klein questioned, wide-eyed.

"Yes," I truthfully confirmed to him without providing any details. "The first mate and the remainder of the crew are uninfected. We should reach Rhodes without incident."

"What a pig," he spat out, making an ugly face. The look of disgust and contempt against Donis was obvious. "What type of a weak man wants and uses drugs?"

I looked at Klein sadly, merely shrugging my shoulders slightly. His reaction was the same one I had held previously.

I could only imagine Klein's reaction if he knew that only ten months previously his commanding officer had become a raging heroin addict in less than a week. I had come very close to forfeiting my body and Troy's life to obtain more of the drug.

"Remain on guard outside the door and notify me when you are relieved," I ordered him. I glanced down at my watch. "We still have about six hours until we reach Rhodes."

I reentered the cabin to find the boy had not moved a millimeter from the time I had left. He soon yawned widely and went over to the bunk. He wrapped himself in my tunic and laid down. He closed his eyes and was soon asleep.

I watched him sleep peacefully for several minutes before I returned to my report.


	11. Chapter 10

The sun had already been up for a few hours when we reached Rhodes. The battered fishing boat pulled up alongside the dock where we were met by Luther and several soldiers.

I attempted to gently wake the boy, but he awoke with a start. His eyes went wide and I could see the fear lurking behind his forced bravado.

"We have arrived where you will be staying for the next few days," I explained without telling him exactly where he was. "It is only a short walk to the main residence. You will be very comfortable there."

He looked up at me with deep eyes, the question lurking there unmistakable.

"No, I will not be staying with you," I answered trying not to put any emotion in my voice. The look of betrayal sprang to his eyes. "I need to return to my unit which is stationed elsewhere," I attempted to explain. "There will be other German officers who will see to your safety."

I did not believe my own lie and neither did the boy. What had I delivered the boy to? I couldn't stop myself for remembering the Frenchman murdered by the SS. He was once a son to someone, too.

"Now, come along. They are waiting for you," I said, attempting to sound stern.

I had already packed my few belongings in my bag and slung it over my shoulder. The guard who had relieved Klein a few hours ago escorted us up the narrow stairs and unto the deck.

Donis was already on deck and appeared to be none the worse for his drug use the prior evening. He greeted me warmly, too warmly in my opinion.

"Good morning, Hauptmann! A beautiful day, isn't it? A fine day to be alive."

I ignored Donis, keeping the boy close to me as we walked down the plank to the dock. However, the captain would not let it drop and called after me. "Don't forget our conversation from last evening, Hauptmann! Remember I have connections who will always deliver, anytime, anyplace."

The soldiers stepped forward to claim the boy. I felt uneasy for the boy, an emotion I could not show in front of him.

The guards started to take him away when I stopped them.

I bent down so I was at eye level with the boy.

"Take care. And remember, no telling anyone our secret," I gently chided him as I held a finger to my lips. I touched him lightly on the shoulder before standing up and motioning for the guards to lead him away.

He was led away by a beefy guard. The boy walked quietly, looking over his shoulder every so often at me before continuing. He then stopped completely and turned around to look at me. A faint smile came to his lips and he held his hand up shyly to wave good-bye with just his fingertips

A part of me crumpled inside as to what I was responsible for doing to him. I waved back at him returning his smile, hiding my inner turmoil. The guard then roughly indicated for the boy to continue walking. I watched until he entered the mansion, leaving my sight.

It would be the final time I would see the boy until years after the war had ended.

The moment was interrupted and spoiled by Luther.

"A touching moment, Dietrich. Very touching indeed," he said with amusement. "But sentimentality has no place in our line of business."

I turned to face him, my eyes blazing. "He is nothing more than a boy. Surely you can afford him some compassion as to what he was drawn into against his will and the pawn he will be over the next several days."

"May I remind you, Dietrich, of the young German boys like him being killed at very minute by Allied bombing raids. If one young Tommy needs to be sacrificed for the betterment of the Reich, then so be it."

Luther's words were made much worse by the serious expression on his face. What a Nazi puppet, what a bastard soldier, I decided. Had all of the decent Wehrmacht soldiers been killed in the field, with only these puppets surviving, protected far behind the lines?

"You know, Dietrich? I frankly never expected to see you again." Luther shook his head. "I can't believe you actually succeeded."

"I'm glad I was able to have disappointed you, Luther. But it is as I had promised you: I returned with the boy and all of my men. It isn't the first time I have succeeded against high odds and serious doubts."

Luther merely nodded his head in slight contrition.

"Is Oberst von Graff available? I would like to brief him immediately so I and my men may return to our unit in France." My words were blunt, the anger in them evident.

The adjutant proceeded to look me up and down, and I could see his lip slightly curl at my appearance.

"The Oberst is out inspecting the fortifications and is expected to return within the next few hours. We expected you later. As for returning to France, you are scheduled for a transport plane which leaves early tomorrow evening. Until then, you and your men may enjoy all the hospitality Rhodes has to offer."

Luther's eyes looked me over quickly.

"I would highly suggest for you to clean up and make yourself presentable before briefing the Oberst. You can't possible expect to meet with him in your current state. A room will be made available for you to wash and change into a clean uniform. Since the mission was successfully completed, there is no reason for to remain with your men. You will be staying in von Graff's residence this evening as you agreed to previously."

A small part of me was suspicious if I was being deliberately separated from my men. Or was it merely important for von Graff to flaunt the new found wealth he possessed?

"I have been in the field for several days. I believe it is expected my uniform would reflect the reality of the situation." Luther merely looked at me, not accepting my explanation.

"I was issued only a single tropical uniform when I arrived. What would you expect me to wear?" I asked incredulously. Why were so many senior officers obsessed by perfectly clean uniforms? There were more important issues for their obsessions.

"Trust me, Dietrich, it will be unacceptable to the Oberst. I will have your uniform immediately laundered and pressed and your boots polished." I noticed him glance quickly at my cover, examining my hair from what he could see of it. "I will also send a barber to your quarters.

"I highly suggest we leave immediately so you may clean up. The Oberst's arrival time can be unpredictable and he does not care to be kept waiting.'

"I understand," I agreed sarcastically. "It would be rather unprofessional for me to have the Oberst be kept waiting while I have my hair barbered."

Luther began walking away before I stopped him. "And my men?"

"They are well taken care of. I will see you to your quarters now. As a thank you from Herr Oberst, you have the use of them until you depart."

I barely nodded before following him, returning to the hulking mansion.

I could see the look of respect when we passed the guards in the hallways. They knew my team had been successful against excessive odds.

Luther led me into a spacious room on the second floor.

"Leave your uniform and boots outside the door. I will have them immediately tended to. The barber will arrive shortly. You have less than two hours before the Oberst returns. After you are cleaned up," he looked me up and down again, much as if I was horse he was purchasing, "I will escort you to von Graff's office. You will wait there until he arrives. Your time is free to do with it what you want."

Luther suddenly gave me an unexpected wink. "Do you desire 'entertainment' for this evening? I can arrange for it, if you like. I imagine you would care to relax and unwind with a woman after your success."

"No," I said after a slight hesitation. I always found sex to be extremely intense and satisfying after I had successfully completed a mission. Although I deeply desired and needed the physical release tonight, I did not want to betray Agathe.

Luther noticed my hesitation and misread why I had declined his offer. "I can assure you the Oberst won't mind. He has already given his approval. After all, he has various women visit him on a regular basis. He'll probably request some tonight to celebrate the mission's success," Luther added with a wide grin.

I shuddered at the thought of being intimate with a woman von Graff had already known, remembering the incident from the academy. I had already been placed in the awkward position of sharing a woman with him and I didn't care in the slightest for it to be repeated.

"You've definitely earned the reward of physical pleasure. A young girl? Or perhaps a boy is more to your liking?" Luther continued pressing.

I found myself coloring at his last offerings. I looked at him with disgust.

Luther laughed at my reaction. "We're fairly open here on Rhodes, Dietrich. The Berlin brass never visit here. What happens here, stays here."

What the hell else was happening here, I thought. More and more I was looking forward to leaving Rhodes once and for all.

"I will spend the evening quietly relaxing. Alone," I reiterated.

"Suit yourself," Luther said turning to leave.

I immediately went to the French doors and opened them, letting in fresh air to relieve the stuffiness. The room was large and comfortable and not as overly decorated as the rest of the mansion.

I removed my boots and proceeded to strip down, placing the articles outside the door as instructed. I then took a long, leisurely shower, allowing the cold water to rejuvenate me from the fogginess of my little sleep. The barber had already arrived when I exited the shower. Thankfully, I had wrapped myself with a towel.

"Herr Hauptmann, I apologize for interrupting your bathing, but I was instructed to let myself in and wait for you," he said, as he removed his cap. I noticed his patched, threadbare clothes and immediately understood that he was probably a local being held by the Nazis to forcibly work. I waved his apology aside, knowing it was not of his doing.

I nodded, not wanting to cause him any more difficulties. "Very well." I gave him a wave of my hand and sat down.

He wrapped me with a large sheet, fastening it behind my neck. He proceeded to give me an excellent close shave, followed by a neat hair trim.

"Nicely done," I responded honestly, looking at myself in a hand mirror. The barber gave a slight smile of appreciation before cleaning up. I went to my bag which I had casually thrown aside and withdrew some Reichmarks.

"Thank you," I said trying to hand him the money.

He shrank back, not accepting it. "Herr Hauptmann, if I am caught with it, they will believe that I stole it from you while I was waiting and then . . ." he made a slashing action across his throat.

"If anyone questions you regarding it, inform them that I gave it to you as a thank you for an excellent job. I can be contacted for confirmation if necessary."

"Thank you, thank you!" he said profusely, tipping his cap. "It is greatly appreciated and will be a big help to my family."

My uniform and boots were returned as the barber was leaving and I quickly dressed. It was not long afterwards Luther appeared to escort me to von Graff's office. I will be glad when I was finished with von Graff and everyone connected to his mission, I thought darkly, as we quickly walked to the other side of the building.

"Wait here, Dietrich," Luther instructed me. "The Oberst should arrive momentarily."

I left my report in the middle of his desk, ready for his review. I sat for a few minutes, but then decided to look around the office to help keep me awake.

I went to stand in front of von Graff's desk, looking up at Hitler's overdrawn portrait. On the desk was an equally overdone bust of the Fuhrer. I contemplated both of them, casually smoking and blowing an occasional plume of smoke at them.

And these were considered art but the O'Keefe was not? I was sickened at the thought.

I walked around the office to see if there was anything else of interest before deciding to sit on the divan to break my cycle of restlessness.

I proceeded to wait an additional thirty minutes for von Graff, smoking one cigarette after another to relieve my boredom and to keep me awake. I would have loved to doze off in the chair, but it would only make my tiredness worse. When I thought I would be unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I heard an automobile pull up outside the house. The soldiers began coming to attention.

Von Graff had arrived. My exhaustion immediately left me.

It took von Graff only a few minutes to arrive at his office. He strode in briskly, his mind clearly focused on the mission. I came to attention and smartly saluted him.

"Any news from Allied command?" von Graff asked brushing past me to sit behind his desk. He picked up my report and began skimming through it.

"Nothing so far, Sir."

It had been less than half a day since we had returned. I believed it was far too early for the Allies to have reacted to the boy's kidnapping. But they would react soon, very soon.

I slightly paused before delivering the next piece of information. I believed von Graff should be aware of the boy's condition before he discovered it on his own.

"Herr Oberst, the boy didn't speak once throughout the whole operation."

"Oh?" von Graff asked, looking up from my report. His expression showed disinterest.

"The boy is a mute."

Von Graff looked amused at my concern for the boy.

"What's the matter, Captain? Not happy with your work?"

I kept my face passive while the loathing rose within me.

You arrogant bastard, I thought. You have no skill or expertise on the battlefield. You put others at risk to complete your dirty work while you enjoy your stolen riches and whores.

"I still believe it would have been possible to rescue General Schilling with a small raiding party and avoided all of this."

"We don't even know where they are keeping him," von Graff replied, obviously annoyed.

"I believe Intelligence could have discovered where," I countered.

"Perhaps, but by then the news of his capture would have reached Germany. Imagine the effect on the morale of the German people, that a foremost general had been captured, let alone the effect on the Fuhrer."

"Perhaps we should not second guess how the Fuhrer will react to the reality of the war situation?" I professionally stated as a question while meaning it as a direct response.

Von Graff looked like I had slapped him. "Hauptmann Dietrich, I shall pretend I did not hear your last remark." I looked at him without fear, still smoking. I stood by what I had said.

"When can I return to my unit?"

"You are free to return immediately. However, arrangements have already been made for you and your men to leave on a transport plane early tomorrow evening. In the meantime, please accept my hospitality on behalf of yourself and your men."

"Thank you," I said strictly out of politeness.

I took a drag on my cigarette before asking my question.

"The boy must be very important. Who is he?" I asked. I had to know the boy's identity.

I stood over von Graff, weaving my cigarette through my fingers. The tone of my voice was firm. I would not be put off this time.

Von Graff hesitated a moment before answering. "He is Miles Simmons, the son of British General Geoffrey Simmons.

I almost snorted in disdain. Now I understood why the boy had been kidnapped and not his father. While also a general, Simmons was not of the same caliber as Schilling. In fact, I would categorize Simmons as a minor general. The Allies would have never agreed to exchange Schilling for Simmons. But for the boy? Perhaps, but unlikely.

"I would like to visit the boy before I leave, Herr Oberst."

Von Graff looked at me with amusement. "There is no reason for you to visit Simmons, Dietrich. Your part of the mission is complete. You are to leave him be. I can assure you that he will be well taken care of."on

I said nothing, forcing myself to bite my tongue.

"As I thought, Dietrich. Enjoy your evening. You're dismissed."

I left without saying another word to von Graff, glad to be out of his presence.

I was leaving the building when a large sedan pulled up in front. Three stunning women exited the vehicle and I had no doubts as to why they were here. I tipped my cover as a politeness even given their profession.

"You're not leaving the party before it begins, are you, Hauptmann?" one called to me with a deep laugh.

I merely gave her a smile in response. A soldier soon arrived to escort them upstairs, the one woman looking back at me to give me a wink. Yes, the celebration was already beginning for von Graff.

My men were finishing a heavy meal when I arrived at their barracks. I congratulated them on a job well done, but did not tarry. They clearly wanted to enjoy the area before their 24:00 curfew and had little desire to spend their free evening with their commander.

I had little desire to see Rhodes myself, but even less desire to return to von Graff's monstrosity of a mansion. Instead, I slowly walked the grounds, enjoying the gardens which were extensive and well done. Vaguely, I felt like a prisoner behind the high walls surrounding the estate. Darkness finally forced me to reenter the house. I retired to my room in the mansion.

A fine cold meal had been laid for me on the table. Nearby was an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it. There was a note tied to the bottle's neck. "Compliments of Oberst von Graff" I read with a smirk. I was surprised to discover the champagne to be of an excellent pre-war vintage. Probably chosen by a staff member or raided from the owner's wine cellar, I imagined.

I swiftly ate the meal and took the bottle out on the balcony. I smoked a cigarette and enjoyed the champagne, looking out over the Mediterranean. It didn't take long for me to become comfortable and relaxed.

I felt an arrogant pride rise within me. I had successfully carried out my orders. I had perfectly planned and completed the mission to the highest standard. I doubted anyone, including Mueller, could have accomplished it better. Yes, my orders had been to kidnap a boy to ensure the Nazi regime's survival, but it was not of my doing. I had delivered Miles without any harm coming to him and did so by killing only one man.

As much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, my mission had been unethical. Frankly, I believed it could be classified as a war crime. The mission would never fit with the warfare I had desired and envisioned as a child and later as a cadet.

What had the Nazis become to condone such an act? Or had they always been this way, the slick propaganda covering up the dirty secrets? Even worse, what had I become to be so proud at accomplishing such a mission with ease? What fate had I delivered the boy into? Had I delivered my soul when I took my oath to Hitler and the Nazis? I shook my head. I already knew the answer to my final question.

I could hear loud music coming from the far side of the manor. A woman's laugh occasionally emerged above the noise. The gaiety abruptly ended when I heard her being harshly struck. It was followed by several more slaps and a painful scream which carried in the still night air. The music soon stopped and I heard nothing else. No doubt von Graff's party was just beginning to warm up.

I listened impassively. I could only imagine the impact on the boy if he had also heard the same as I. I wanted to see how he was handling his captivity, but I had been directly ordered to stay away from him.

I suddenly became overwhelmingly tired.

It had been a long week and much had happened. I looked forward to sleeping in late tomorrow morning and pushing all my doubts aside for some welcome sleep. I threw my cigarette butt away and downed the remainder of the champagne directly from the bottle. I left the French doors open, to enjoy the fresh salt air during the night as I slept.

I stripped down and slipped into the oversized bed. The fresh, clean sheets felt heavenly against my bare skin. It didn't take long for me to relax and clear my mind. I listened to the sound of the sea briefly before falling asleep.

With the champagne and little rest over the last week, my sleep was deep and dreamless.

It was blank until the early morning hours when Sergeant Troy and the Rat Patrol visited my dreams for the first time in months.

We had returned to the North African desert. I saw Troy standing solemnly in the distance as if he was waiting for me. The three other members of the Rat Patrol stood behind him with their arms crossed. They were just as serious, none of them saying a word.

I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop myself from walking towards Troy. He then began walking towards me, meeting me half-way.

Troy smartly saluted me and after I returned it, we stood there staring at each other for several seconds, the only sound being the wind.

"Why are you here, Sergeant? Haven't you killed enough of my men? Why don't you leave me in peace? Or have you returned to finally kill me?" I demanded in a cold voice, barely able to contain my anger.

Troy did not immediately respond. When he finally spoke, his words were direct. It was the same direct dialog I had exchanged with him on countless occasions in the desert.

"Captain, I didn't come here to kill you or any more of your men. I killed the last one in the desert. This time, I will be killing another German officer's men. But you need to leave now or I _will_ be forced to kill you and your men. There will be no survivors from your team. Leave now and I promise all of you will live to see the end of the war."

I laughed at the absurdity of his words. "You possess no power to make such a boastful promise." I suddenly became serious. "Answer me: Give me the reason for visiting me, Sergeant Troy," I ordered him. "It is as unwanted here on Rhodes as it was previously in the North African desert. You and everything regarding the desert are firmly in the past."

Troy began to speak again, his words cryptic. "Captain, I've already told you the reason why. But I'm also here to tell you that I will visit you a second time in the future, at a time when you will desperately need my help. In turn, I will ask you to visit me when I will desperately need your help after the war."

Troy's eyes were unwavering, boring into me. "When all that's finished, it'll be your choice to propose if we'll be linked together forever as brothers," he added.

I could barely contain my anger at his audacity. I took a step closer to him. I wanted to ensure Troy could hear my soft words. "I will never want any of your future visits any more than I would care to visit you. Any link I had with you was severed in the desert. I abhor and loathe all of you Americans and everything you represent. I have no desire to be a brother-in-arms with an Ami, let alone an Ami such as you."

He stood there for a moment, his head to the side examining, coolly analyzing me. He then turned his back on me, shaking his head in pity and began walking away, not wanting to have anything to do with me.

"Sergeant Troy! Goddamn you! Get back here!" I ordered him. He continued to walk away. It was one of the few times I had sworn at an enlisted man, but I was furious at Troy's insubordination even given that he was from a different army.

I tried to follow him, but my boots sunk deeply into the thick sand and I was unable to keep up with him. It suddenly began to rain heavily. The rain quickly turned the sand into deep, dark mud, the terrain changing from the desert to Europe.

I was suddenly surrounded by heavy firing, with artillery shells exploding around me. I lost my footing in the mud and staggered when I was hit twice by unseen fire. I fell to my knees and crumpled when an exploding munition almost cut me in two.

I had no strength to continue calling after Troy, but it didn't matter. He had already disappeared with his men.

I awoke with a start, sitting up in the bed, covered in a cold sweat with my heart pounding. I was confused for a moment as to where I was. It was only when I heard the breaking of the waves did I remember I was on Rhodes. I glanced over at the clock. It was still dark and a few hours before dawn.

I ran my hands through my hair. I then immediately reached for my cigarettes and lighter. I quickly lit a cigarette and took a deep drag on it. I settled back onto the pillows and exhaled a sharp plume of smoke at the ceiling. I tried to have the nicotine calm my thoughts, but I only had one thought exploding within me.

Leave.

The urge was overwhelming. I wanted, no make that desperately needed, to immediately leave Rhodes with my men. There was something off, about the island and everything else, making me extremely uneasy. I didn't experience these feelings often, but when I did, I took them seriously.

I stubbed out my cigarette. I quickly rose and dressed in my traditional gray uniform. I smartly folded the tropical uniform and left it neatly on the chair. I touched it briefly, feeling the soft cloth. I would never wear German tropical issue again.

I then gathered my few things and left the residence, briefly nodding to the guards. My curt actions almost dared them to stop me. I quickly made my way to the airfield, only a short walk away. I spoke with the communications desk and discovered a cargo plane would return to France in a little over an hour.

"Reserve space for men and myself on the plane. I will return with them shortly. In the meantime, you are to hold the plane," I ordered him.

"I will need to contact Oberst von Graff, Herr Hauptmann, for confirmation," he said with a frown. "You were scheduled to leave on this evening's transport plane."

"Feel free to contact him, Gefreiter," I bluffed. "But I would keep in mind that the Oberst was up rather late last night entertaining. In fact, he still has guests in the manor. I seriously doubt he would care to be disturbed. If you understand what I mean? I raised my eyebrows, and looked at him with a knowing look in my eyes.

The boy quickly blushed.

"I believe given the circumstances it won't be necessary for me to contact him," he suddenly said.

"I thought you would agree," I said with a slight smile. "Please send him my regards later in the morning, after my departure. Also, radio ahead to my unit notifying them. I will be returning to my sooner than anticipated."

I woke and spoke with my men briefly, telling them that there had been a change in our departure plans. I had pulled forward our departure and it was necessary for us to leave shortly. There was much grumbling and a few curses from them. Not only had I interrupted their well-earned sleep, I had cancelled their half-day furlough.

The plane was horribly cramped and we sat between the crates in the cargo hold. I frankly wouldn't have cared if we were riding on the wings. I believed it was that urgent for us to leave as soon as possible.

There was a general amusement among the Luftwaffe crew regarding us. They didn't understand the urgency as to why we would want to leave the peacefulness of Rhodes for the uncertainty of France.

I felt relief when the airplane finally lifted off the ground and banked away from Rhodes. I would rather us take our chances on it than remain on the island for what I suspected was coming.


	12. Chapter 11

**Tremble for yourself, my man,  
You know that you have seen this all before  
Tremble, little lion man,  
You'll never settle any of your scores  
Your grace is wasted in your face,  
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck  
Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck**

 _-Little Lion Man – Mumford & Sons, verse 2_

It took us over two days to return to our unit in France. I cared little about the length of time. The only thing I cared about was that we were no longer on Rhodes. My uneasiness began to subside only when the island slowly faded into the distance.

The flight, to put it mildly, was nerve wracking at times. The cargo plane had no fighter escort and it came under ground heavy fire on several occasions forcing the pilot to take evasive action. I had the feeling of loss of control up here, necessitating for all of us to place our trust in the aircrew. The crew being on edge added to our own tension.

Further delays were caused by the poor weather. We were able to catch only a few moments of sleep due to the turbulence. On one occasion, it was necessary for the crew to land the plane for several hours, waiting for the weather to improve before we could continue. The unscheduled stop at least allowed us the opportunity to eat a brief meal at a remote airbase in Spain.

It wasn't until early evening on the second day when we finally landed at our base's airfield in France. There was a steady, cold rain falling which quickly penetrated our uniforms draining us further. All of us were emotionally and physically exhausted from the last few weeks. I wanted nothing more than to have a hot shower and then to fall into my rack and sleep for several hours.

I had planned on reporting to von Kleist in the late morning, but apparently, his priorities were different than mine. I was met on the airfield by his adjutant shortly after the plane had taxied to a stop.

"Hauptmann Dietrich! Oberst von Kleist expected you to return a few days ago. Where have you been?"

"The weather and enemy activity caused numerous delays," I explained. "I can assure you we did not tarry to see the sights," I added irritably.

"True, you have good reasons, but you are to report to the Oberst immediately. He is anxious to speak with you on a few issues, especially regarding your mission."

I frowned. I had had the mission's results radioed ahead and von Kleist should already be aware of our success. I couldn't understand what was driving the immediacy of the issue. There was nothing else to be done from my end. What details were so urgent von Kleist could not wait until I reported tomorrow?

I gave a deep sigh. I was insanely tired, but my rest would be forced to wait. "Inform Herr Oberst that I will arrive shortly, after I see to my men." The adjutant didn't move, waiting for me. I sighed again, loudly enough for the adjutant to recognize my annoyance with him.

"Leutnant Hahn! See to it that the men receive a hot meal," I ordered him. "And by my orders, they have no duty for next two days. The men have earned it," I added, glaring at the adjutant as I gave my orders to Hahn.

Hahn gave me a broad grin and saluted me with exaggeration. "Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann. I will gladly see to it that your orders are carried out."

I gathered my bag and quickly left with the adjutant. The rain began coming down harder with occasional bursts of lightening. It was with relief when we finally reached the command headquarters. I stepped into von Kleist's office and removed my cover. I ran my hand through my hair to place it in some sense of order.

Von Kleist appeared genuinely happy and pleased at my return. He beamed at me much like a proud parent.

"My boy! Congratulations on a superbly executed mission," he exclaimed, clasping me on the shoulders with both hands. Surprisingly, his touch did not bother me.

"Have a seat, Dietrich. Damn this French weather! You must be soaked through," von Kleist said, taking in my drenched clothing. Without asking, he poured a generous portion of schnapps into a tall, stemmed glass and offered it to me. "Here, a little something to warm you up."

He indicated for me to drink it without waiting for him which I readily did. As the schnapps' warmth began to spread through me, I found myself beginning to relax and feel somewhat human again.

"Dietrich, you look dead on your feet. When was the last time you slept or had anything substantial to eat?" He casually tossed a pack of American cigarettes on the table. I lit a cigarette for the Oberst and myself. He proceeded to pour himself a drink and then refilled my glass.

I had to think for a moment before answering. With the adrenaline rush of the mission over, the lack of sleep was causing my mind to become muddled. The alcohol was not helping. "I was able to sleep for a few hours yesterday, while the plane was grounded and we were waiting for the weather to clear. As for eating, we were able to procure a meal in Spain yesterday."

"I won't keep you long then, but there were a few items which I needed to immediately address with you. You are then to stand down for the next few days off. You definitely have earned the time off."

"Thank you, Herr Oberst. I've already ordered for my men to have no duty for the next two days."

"Good. I like to see my officer's looking to their men first." Von Kleist immediately began addressing about the mission.

"Your success on Rhodes was impressive, Dietrich. Very nice work indeed. You were definitely the right man for the mission even without knowing the particulars. Turned out speaking Greek wasn't necessary after all, eh?"

I gave him a slight nod, allowing myself the satisfaction of a small smile.

"It went well, Herr Oberst. I have already submitted my report to Oberst von Graff, but I can submit a second one to you analyzing the operation, if you would care for it."

"It can wait until you return to duty," von Kleist commented, as he dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

With the warmth of his office, the schnapps and now the cigarettes, I was beginning to become very drowsy. I was very much looking forward to having no duty the next few days to recover.

We sat in silence for a few minutes as we enjoyed the liquor.

"I was unaware of the mission centering surrounding the boy." Von Kleist shook his head sadly. "I would have recommended against his involvement if I had known about it. No innocent child should be pulled into the engagement of war."

"I agree, Herr Oberst. I believe it would have been possible to recover the general instead of abducting the boy." I paused to take a deep drink of my schnapps. "But, I was ordered to proceed. I strongly expressed my opinion to Oberst von Graff before and again after the mission."

"Apparently, the Allies shared your thoughts because the mission was all for nothing."

My drowsiness immediately dissipated at his words.

Now I was confused and it must have clearly shown on my face.

"Nothing?" I questioned, with a frown. "I would consider the mission a complete success. We were able to procure the boy without any harm coming to him. There were no German casualties and only one Allied casualty. We were then able to evacuate safely and deliver the boy to Rhodes. Was there a separate, related mission that I was uninformed about which failed?"

Von Kleist looked at me strangely without answering.

I immediately felt concern for Miles. I pushed von Kleist for an answer. "Herr Oberst, has something happened to the boy? I was informed that he would be shot if the Allies did not agree to exchange him for General Schilling."

Von Kleist looked at me and then recognized my confusion. However, Von Kleist still had not answered my question.

"Did the Allies refuse to exchange him?" I pressed him. I was concerned that Miles had already been shot.

"Well, it deals with the boy, but not in such a way," von Kleist snorted. I found my frustration growing as von Kleist casually swirled the schnapps in his glass.

Something was unmistakably odd and out of place.

"Sir, apparently I have not been informed of this well-kept secret. If you would enlighten me, perhaps?"

"An Allied commando team rescued the boy the evening you departed. Your team must have missed them literally by a half day. If you had departed as planned you would have encountered them.

From far off, a vague but familiar, awareness began to grow inside of me. No, it couldn't be. Not at Rhodes, not now. Not after so many months had passed.

The familiar feeling continued to grow stronger and became difficult for me to roughly shove it aside. No, I would not allow him to intrude on my life and career again. I was no longer in Africa and I wanted finality away from him.

"What drove your departure, Dietrich? Intuition? Or, perhaps you have a crystal ball?" von Kleist asked playfully.

I was vaguely aware of shaking my head in response to von Kleist's light question.

I looked at von Kleist, to begin pushing him for further details again when he began supplying the answers himself.

"The commando team had complete control of the situation and caused heavy German casualties. Oberst von Graff and Hauptmann Luther were among those killed. And," he paused for a moment to carefully choose his words before continuing. "There are unconfirmed reports by survivors that the boy was used as a human shield by von Graff before the commandos killed the oberst."

"Bastard." The word slipped out before I could stop it. I shouldn't have been surprised by von Graff's actions, but I was.

Von Kleist immediately looked at me sharply, but said nothing to reprimand me.

"Of course, the reports are unconfirmed," he reiterated. By the tone of his voice, there was no doubt in von Kleist's mind that he believed them to be true.

"Unconfirmed. Of course," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. For a soldier to use a small boy, or any civilian, as a shield was irreprehensible. "Yes," I continued, "it would be an action unbecoming of a German officer, especially one of von Graff's rank, to commit such an act. But it would be against human decency for anyone."

We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. A wave of betrayal washed over me. I had loyally upheld my oath as a German officer for what? To kidnap a young boy to be used as a human shield? I killed a man for this? Is this what Nazi Germany stood for? The master race which was superior to all others?

"Bastard," I said again, under my breath.

"Dietrich, you have now spoken disrespectfully of a senior officer twice, even if he is now deceased. I should reprimand you, but I will let it pass given the circumstances." Von Kleist had uttered the words, but there no rebuke behind them. We both shared the mutual opinion of von Graff and his actions.

I had always known, when the war began, of Germany's eventual loss. Although I had hope during its successful campaigns, I now had none. If Germany would condone executing a boy and using him as a human shield, then yes, it was inevitable for God to come down against her. All countries, including the Allies, were guilty of war crimes. But I could not imagine them to be of the magnitude Germany was committing in its desperate struggle to win.

"Is there any other information available regarding the commando raid?" I asked.

"Yes, more than I would like to report. Adding to the chaos was von Graff's commandeered residence catching fire and burning to the ground."

Good. I thought. Now the O'Keefe forgery had been burned as Luther had suggested and as I had wished.

"There's little left of the main compound," von Kleist continued. "Rhodes was basically shot up as if it was a small town in an American western movie."

It was now impossible to fight against the feeling stirring within me. Deep down inside, as much as I wanted to deny it, it was true.

He had returned. Yes, Sergeant Sam (or was it possibly Samuel?) Troy was again in my life. Would I ever be free of him?

"I don't believe it. It can't be. Not there . . ." I said softly, my voice incredulous.

Not on Rhodes, an inconsequential venue of the war. Not here in Europe. He couldn't have followed me here. He should be home in the United States, hitting cows in the desolate regions of Wyoming, recovering from the brutal bastinado he had received from Guest. He should be someplace else, anywhere else, allowing me to have peace from him and his continued strikes against me.

"Well, you should believe it. It's a fact," von Kleist continued, unaware of my internal struggle regarding Troy.

"Is the name of the commando team known?" I broke my cardinal rule of asking a question when I already knew the answer, but I couldn't stop myself from doing so.

"It hasn't been confirmed, but early intelligence is pointing towards a group called the 'Rat Patrol'. Odd name for a commando group," von Kleist added with a frown. "I wonder if it has some type of meaning or significance."

"The Rat Patrol," I repeated its name.

I gripped my glass tighter and then suddenly drank its remaining contents in a single take.

"Dietrich, looks like you've seen a ghost," von Kleist asked with concern.

I finally managed to find my voice. "I have."

"Wait a minute," von Kleist said thoughtfully, a knowing look appearing on his face. "Isn't it the name of the . . ."

"Yes," I said very brusquely, interrupting him.

"Well, you certainly have the luck of the devil when it comes to encountering these commandos. You missed them by only hours. It was a good thing you were able to make the earlier plane. If one didn't know better one would swear that you had been warned," he chuckled.

I looked at von Kleist quickly. My nightmare had come true, Troy's warning a reality.

So, Troy was still a part of my life. I didn't bother asking von Kleist if Intelligence had confirmed the leader of the Rat Patrol. The daring raid on a German island stronghold had all the markings of Troy, Sergeant Sam Troy and no one else. As much as I hated to admit it, there was a vague part of me that was satisfied to discover Troy was still alive.

I had mixed feelings, despite myself, regarding Troy's success. I was truly happy the boy had been rescued and removed as a pawn of the war.

I cared little for what had happened to von Graff and Luther. If von Graff had used the boy as a shield, he had received what he had richly deserved for such a despicable action.

I paused for a few minutes before continuing. "To be informed that a successful mission had been turned into a folly, a waste of effort and time . . ."

"It was beyond your control, Dietrich," von Kleist reassured me. "There is no negative reflection against you or your team."

Von Kleist generously refilled my glass again. Apparently, he preferred me to linger a while longer.

"Oh, there is one other piece of information of which I need to inform you of," he added.

My stomach knotted although his tone implied it was nothing serious. What else could there be? The mission had ended in disaster. From far off, I could hear von Kleist speak, interrupting my thoughts on Troy and the Rat Patrol.

"I want to congratulate you on your promotion to Major, Dietrich."

I was caught by surprise at his casual announcement. It had been a while since my last promotion. I was beginning to fear my lack of success against the Rat Patrol had permanently tainted my career. I knew my father would be especially pleased at my continued advancement.

I gave a small smile and nod to von Kleist. "Thank you, Sir."

Von Kleist reached over and clinked my glass. "You've earned it. My congratulations again."

He settled back into his chair, thinking for a few minutes before continuing.

"I look forward put putting your skills to more use here. I can definitely use a man with your background. Your talents would have been badly wasted in Stalingrad under Generalfeldmarschall Paulus."

Wasted? What an odd word to use. The Sixth Army at Stalingrad had been in desperate need of officers before it collapsed.

"Thank God it was arranged for you to be posted here instead of the eastern front."

"Arranged? My orders clearly stated I was to be assigned to France, when the war began and again after Africa fell."

"Don't you know?" he snorted. "If anyone should know, I thought it would be you. It is so unbelievably obvious," von Kleist looked at me incredulously.

I looked at him puzzled. "I'm unsure as to what you are referencing."

"You really are unaware of your situation, aren't you? I thought he would have told you."

I was becoming irritated of the guessing game with him. While I doubted von Kleist was deliberately withholding information from me, I wanted to know the facts.

"Who told me what? Perhaps if you would enlighten me, I can confirm my knowledge of the event."

"Why, I thought your father, General Dietrich, would have told you. It was he who arranged for you to be assigned to Africa instead of the eastern front after France fell. When the Africa campaign ended, he again made arrangements for you to be posted in France instead of the Soviet theater.

A deathly pall fell upon me.

"He never told you?" asked von Kleist, surprise clearly written on his face.

It took me a few moments for me to recover my voice.

"No, my father never divulged anything to me," I said in a low, angry voice. "But it doesn't explain why you did not do so."

Von Kleist shrugged his shoulders, looking at me. "I honestly thought you knew."

My hand grasped my glass tighter as the anger rose within me. I was livid at my father for interfering with my career. I had always prided myself on standing on my own merits without any assistance from him. His interference had now gone too far.

"You're not the first, and no doubt you won't be the last, son to receive more advantageous orders due to a father's influence. I must admit, Dietrich, at first I was leery of having you reporting to me despite your strong combat background. I initially believed your reputation had been over inflated due to your father's influence. But," and he paused to shake his head slightly with an ironic laugh, "you have definitely dispersed any doubts I may have had about you. In fact, there are several senior officers who wished you had assigned to them instead. You are definitely in the top tier of officers who have reported to me during the war."

My hand continued tightening on my glass until the stem shattered. I didn't realize how fiercely I had continued gripping the glass' remnants until I noticed von Kleist's eyes go down to my hand.

I looked down myself. I had severely lacerated my hand. It was only now I could feel the blood's warm wetness.

I pulled out my handkerchief and wrapped it around my hand. The handkerchief was immediately stained crimson. Without saying a word, von Kleist gave me a small towel to staunch the flow.

It was an intense, yet surreal, moment. I could not believe my father had engineered such an audacious act. Yet in reality, I should not have been surprised in the least. I was infused with a sudden hatred. It was stronger than any distaste I had felt for him in the past. Any hope and desire I had had of having a relationship with my father instantly disappeared.

The prison I had so desperately trying to escape my entire life slammed down around me. But I noticed with satisfaction, that my father was trapped inside with me. For while I could never live up to his expectations, he in turn could never escape from what he had wanted me to be.

If my posting to Africa and France had been arranged, what else had been a lie in my career? The Oak Leaves for Jufra? My promotions to Hauptmann and now to Major? My identity and self-worth had been tied to the military and they had all been for nothing.

My distress was immediate, overwhelming and completely engulfing.

All my addictions surged to the surface, with my intense need for heroin leading the race. The demand was nothing like the faint desire I had felt on the boat and had smugly placed aside, believing I was able to control it. No, now the necessity for the drug was crushing, the desires overwhelming. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before in my life.

My God, Guest had been so unbelievably right about drugs and how useful they could be to relive stress! Why should I have doubted him?

I wanted and desperately craved heroin at this moment as I never had before. I had to have the drug or I would go insane.

I wanted the momentary euphoria which would swiftly settle into a satisfactory mind numbness lasting several hours. A small dose would not suffice. I needed sufficient heroin to completely numb and engulf me until tomorrow morning. It was only then I could begin to accept the reality of my father's actions.

The entire experience from start to finish flashed through my mind in an instant with impatient anticipation building at each step: The rubber strap tightening around my forearm to raise a vein, the gentle alcohol swabbing of my inner arm to clean it and then . . . my God . . . the sharp prick of the needle as it smoothly slid into my skin followed soon by the swift kick of heavenly euphoria, the withdrawal of the needle and the release of the strap. And then, mind-numbing bliss taking away all my stress and concerns.

The drug's steps were each more seductive than sexual foreplay, the ecstasy better than an orgasm. Yes, with heroin I merely had to lie back and enjoy the pleasure, not vaguely care or be concerned if the woman's desires or needs were being met. Yes, as much as I enjoyed sex, and needed it for my emotional and physical wellbeing, it paled in comparison to the delight heroin provided me.

Taking heroin was placing me in control of my body, out of its reach from my father. There was nothing he could do to prevent me from enjoying it.

Yes, I was weak, not just for heroin but also for the constant approval and recognition from my father. I suddenly realized that I was seeking his approval just as much as I had sought the drug euphoria. The few times I had received his approval, I could remember the emotional and physical pleasure I had experienced.

The clarity came to me of a fourth addiction that I possessed: The addiction of trying to please my father and live up to the unrealistic expectations we had both set for myself.

I vaguely heard von Kleist speaking, wrenching me away from my addictions. It seemed like hours had passed, but it must have been a few seconds at most.

"Don't doubt yourself, Dietrich, or your abilities as an officer."

I reached into my breast pocket for my own cigarettes and lit one immediately. I took a deep drag on it, quickly forcing the nicotine into my lungs.

I finally found my voice with difficulty. "Herr Oberst, I request an immediate transfer to the eastern front, to the 4th Panzer Army," I said calmly through my anger.

Von Kleist looked at me incredulously. "Have you gone insane?" he sputtered. "Someone at your level must understand what it is like there."

"I have never been saner in my life."

"Your request is denied," von Kleist snapped. "Your experience is needed here just as much, if not more, than on the eastern front. It's only a matter of weeks before the British and Americans land here, and we begin fighting on a western front."

I ignored von Kleist's logic.

"In fact, I don't request a transfer, I demand one." I calmly looked at him. There was a slight smile on my lips, but I felt no amusement.

The anger was now beginning to rise in von Kleist, his face coloring as his voice rose to match mine, a vein pulsing at his neck. "You _demand?!_ Apparently, you have forgotten you are speaking to your commanding officer, Dietrich. Your demand is again denied. Don't push the situation by requesting it a third time. I take it you understand." His voice was harsh and direct, indicating for me not to press the issue further.

It took me several seconds to respond

"Understood," I hissed.

I lit another cigarette. I was now openly chain smoking, barely finishing one cigarette before lighting the next. Von Kleist looked at me with a raised eyebrow, noticing my condition.

"Tell me, Dietrich. If you possess such a burning desire to fight the Bolsheviks, why haven't you expressed your passion previously? According to your dossier, you never approached your commanding officers in Africa nor in France about transferring. Why now? Is it because you know that your father saved you from being sent there? Let it go, Dietrich, and accept his denial as a blessing. It probably has saved your life."

Von Kleist handed me a new glass and filled it to the brim with schnapps. He gave me a moment to down it in a single swallow before placing the bottle near me. The cigarettes and schnapps were having no impact on taking the edge off my anxiety. With little sleep or food over the last few days I should have been well on my way to becoming pleasantly drunk, but I felt nothing.

"You must be aware of the brutal conditions there," von Kleist continued. "The eastern front is rapidly collapsing with high casualties, a level unsustainable for Germany. Captured Wehrmacht soldiers are being shipped off to Soviet POW camps. I highly doubt many will ever return. There are reports of soldiers committing suicide to prevent themselves from being captured. Only God knows what the Red Army will do once they reach Prussia and Eastern Germany, before advancing to Berlin."

Von Kleist shook his head at the thought.

I continued to sit there in silence, not responding, as he tried to reason with me.

"Why do you _really_ want this, Dietrich? Are you trying to commit suicide by being killed in combat against the Bolsheviks? Trust me, a British or American bullet will accomplish the job just as nicely. Or, are you trying to prove yourself while also extracting revenge against your father?

I said nothing.

Von Kleist tried a different tack.

"Or are you trying to prove that you are as much as a man as your father?" His eyes intently searched my face, seeking an answer.

"You've already more than proved your capabilities in combat, Dietrich. Not only at Jufra, but also in numerous other engagements. You have been more than successful on your own merits. Your father had nothing to do with your award of the Oak Leaves nor any of your other commendations. Combat will come to France soon enough and you will have the opportunity to prove yourself again."

I felt my stubborn pride rise within me. I believed the answer was obvious and it should not be necessary for me to provide it.

Von Kleist snorted as he noticed my reaction. "I know your father. It would kill you to admit it, but you are a duplicate of him, as a soldier and as a man."

"Hardly." I considered von Kleist's comments to be the ultimate insult. No, I was not the least like my father. I would not allow myself to be anything remotely like him.

"And Major?" I poured the last of the schnapps into my glass and finished it off.

"Sir?"

"I know you well enough, Dietrich. Put aside any thoughts, no matter how vague, of jumping rank regarding your idiotic idea of transferring to the east. I won't tolerate such a breach of protocol from an officer reporting to me."

Von Kleist's face was hard. He was taking my request personally as my commanding officer. No, my rebellion was not against him, but against the man who was not in the room, but who never left my side.

"Sir, my transfer request is no reflection against you."

"I wouldn't care in the least if it was," von Kleist interrupted me. "My response would remain unchanged. I cannot afford to lose an officer of your quality when the invasion is imminent."

I gave von Kleist a short nod, acknowledging his order. No, I wouldn't jump rank. I would forever be the good and dutifully loyal soldier trained since childhood by my autocratic father. Instead, I would formally submit my transfer request to von Kleist in writing. When he just as formally denied it, I would then begin escalating my request upward, to Rommel if necessary.

I found myself beginning to perspire profusely. My body was becoming agitated and restless and I was having difficulty controlling the tremors. I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms similar to those I had had when I escaped from Guest. It was as if my intense stress was causing my body to severely react from the shock of the heroin depravity as it had previously.

Von Kleist finally noticed my physical condition. "Are you ill, Dietrich?"

"No," I lied. At least not in the manner I would admit to my commanding officer.

Von Kleist stood up. Our meeting was over.

"You are to report for duty in five days," he ordered, extending my furlough by three days. "In the meantime, I recommend you immediately have your hand attended to. It probably needs stitches. You are then to catch some sleep. You look horrible. And, I believe some rest and decent food will clear your mind of the foolishness racing through it."

Von Kleist reached down and offered the pack of American cigarettes to me. "Here take these. I believe you need them more than I do."

I was only able to nod my thank you, before slipping them into my pocket.

"I want you to clearly understand, Dietrich, I will not approve your transfer, not now and in the future." His face softened slightly, as he recognized the inner turmoil I was experiencing.

"You are dismissed, Major."


	13. Chapter 12

I left the building and returned again to the steady, driving rain. I stood in it for a moment, allowing the cold and dampness to temper the anger which was still roiling inside of me. My addictions were raging, and I had nothing to satiate them.

I would need to try and procure, something, anything, to manage the demons that had arisen inside of me. If necessary, I would make do with just cigarettes and alcohol when I returned to my quarters later tonight.

It was difficult to light a cigarette with my injured hand, but I was able to manage it, cupping it so the rain would not extinguish it. I greedily smoked it, wanting some relief but it did little to reduce my tension and agitation. Hopefully, the other symptoms would begin to subside soon to the level of me being able to manage them. I had five days to control my inner demons before returning to duty.

My hand was now beginning to throb. The towel had become saturated with blood and droplets were falling to the ground, mixing with the rain. I did not look forward to having it sewn up, but I only had myself to blame for being unable to control my anger. I shook my head in disgust at my lack of control and weakness. I took a final drag on the cigarette and threw the half-smoked butt away.

I briskly walked to the medical area.

The medical compound was empty of other soldiers when I arrived. The lone receiving nurse took one look at the blood soaked towel and immediately escorted me into a small treatment room. She unwrapped the towel and began examining the wound, gently holding my hand.

"What were you doing, Hauptman . . . ?" I could see her quickly scan my uniform for a name, "to receive such a deep laceration? It should heal without any permanent damage, but it will leave a nasty scar."

"It's Dietrich, Major Hans Dietrich."

The nurse looked at the hauptmann rank on my shoulders and raised an eyebrow in question, clearly doubting the rank I had provided her.

"I just recently received my promotion and have not yet had the opportunity to attach the proper insignias," I explained. Soldiers probably inflated their ranks frequently to impress her, I reasoned.

"Congratulations, 'Major', on your promotion," she responded, not completely convinced I was telling the truth regarding the promotion.

"And you are Fraulein . . .?"

"Ingried Bauder."

"Fraulein Bauder," I gave her a faint smile and short nod of respect. "A glass shattered in my hand while I was holding it," I casually told the half-truth to her. "And as for scarring, I have too many scars to count," I added frankly. "One more, especially not this scratch, will hardly make a difference."

"Odd about the glass just shattering in your hand," she commented with knitted brows. "I will be able to stich it closed myself and it won't be necessary to wake the doctor. I'll take care of it immediately. You're lucky no one else is in need of care tonight."

The nurse proceeded to thoroughly clean the wound and then began closing the deep cut with small, neat stitches. I winced as she pulled the suture through the skin.

"Am I hurting you, Major?" she asked, softening her grip on my hand without looking up.

I saw the opening with her and seized it. Perhaps feeding my opiate addiction would not be as difficult as I initially feared. I would just need to establish a constant narcotic supply from someone in the medical area. I would merely switch over to morphine since heroin was unavailable.

"No, Fraulein. Your touch is actually very gentle. It is the wound itself. My hand is beginning to throb from the laceration. Is it possible to receive something for the pain? I want to ensure I am able to return to duty shortly."

"I can see about giving you something mild. You won't have to worry about it impairing your ability for duty."

"Are you referencing morphine?" I forced myself not to sound too eager.

"Morphine?" she questioned, finally looking up. "Morphine would be overly strong for a laceration, even one this deep. Surely, you cannot be in such dire need as to require morphine?"

I said nothing, looking into her eyes, hating my mental and physical weakness, hating myself for using her to feed my addiction. I saw the nurse begin to waver under my gaze.

Her next words quickly dashed my naïve thoughts. "I am unable to administer it without a doctor's approval. I will need to wake the duty doctor and ask him to order it."

"No, please, it is not necessary to disturb him," I quickly backtracked. "The pain is already beginning to subside under your care. It should be fine shortly."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am positive. I was weak to ask for it," I responded truthfully while also cursing my bad luck.

The nurse responded with a short laugh. "Your reaction actually happens more frequently than you would suspect. I see soldiers refuse morphine who have horrific wounds and yet the same ones will beg for it when they need to have a small splinter removed." She shook her head in amusement.

The nurse returned to her work, focusing on my hand. She quickly finished the remaining stitches and neatly tied a small knot. She then dusted it with sulfa before securely bandaging it. Her head was bent down and the delicate scent of her dark, brunette hair drifted up to me, stirring another addiction within me.

Her professional demeanor interrupted my thoughts. "You will need to return in a few days to have the stitches removed. Here are additional bandages for you to change the dressing in the meantime. Or, if you like, you may return and one of the staff will change them for you."

"When do you normally work?"

"Mostly in the evening."

"Then I will return in the evenings to have you change the dressing for me," I added in my most charming voice. "We have already established a working relationship and I would care very much for it to continue."

Ingried gave me a bright smile in return and I saw a small spark behind it. I was unable to procure heroin and its passable substitute, morphine. Alcohol and nicotine were not sufficing for my current level of stress. I had one addiction remaining.

"What time are you off duty, Fraulein Bauder?" I asked, in a low seductive voice.

She looked up again from her work, slightly flushing at my words. "Please, won't you call me Ingried?"

I smiled, acknowledging her request. "Ingried, I believe you heard my question. What time are you off duty?" I repeated, more forceful than the last time. I wasn't even attempting to hide my true reason for asking her the question. It was obvious what I desired. My boldness surprised even myself. I could not imagine speaking to a nurse in such a forward manner under normal circumstances.

"I am off duty at 22:00, in just a few minutes."

"Perhaps you would care to join me for a drink afterwards?" I asked her. "I would like to show you my gratitude for your excellent care and kindness. Besides, the evening is damp and chilly. A brandy will warm you up."

The nurse gave me a hearty laugh. "The tone of your voice suggests you have more in mind than a simple brandy to show your gratitude and to warm up my insides, Major."

I gave her a wry smile, neither confirming nor denying her suggestive comment. Ingried was plumper than I cared for my women to be, but at that moment I cared little about her figure. Actually, she would do quite nicely for what I had in mind.

"But yes, I would enjoy meeting you for a drink."

"Then I will meet you outside shortly, Ingried. There is a nearby inn which remains open late."

I went outside and waited. Thankfully, the rain had stopped and the sky soon began to clear, showing the stars through the clouds. It wasn't long before she joined me.

We began walking to the inn, making small talk along the way. It wasn't wise to be out at this hour given the partisans, but I was willing to take the risk. I found the recklessness stimulating. It was a recklessness I never would have exhibited on the battleground. I attributed it to my exhaustion and inebriated state, mixed with my raging physical compulsions.

We hadn't walked far when I slipped my around her shoulders and brought her to a stop on a side street. Ingried turned to face me, looking up at me with those dark eyes.

The small spark I had seen lurking within her had grown into a low, smoldering flame. Her eyes showed me a physical desire matching my own. Even deeper, there was the same need for emotional companionship which possessed me.

Her arms slipped around my neck and she gently kissed me on my lips. I found myself responding to her kiss. The kiss began lightly and soon became sensuous, and we both opened our mouths for each other. My uninjured hand reached up to touch her dark, silky hair, wanting to release it from the prim braid framing her head.

My, God! I had forgotten what it was like to hold and taste a woman. My body was alive with re-awaking feelings and desires. My needs and longings now aroused, I began to cruelly kiss Ingried.

I wrapped my arms around her, enjoying the deepening kiss between us. My hands slipped into her coat and under her blouse to feel her bare skin. I lightly caressed her back and then I pulled her close to me, feeling the warmth of her body through the thin blouse.

Ingried tasted of life, everything my body currently wanted and demanded from a woman. My body was electrified by the simple intimacy of kissing and touching a woman again. My self-imposed ten months of celibacy from women had been far too long.

The last time I had had sex had been my final day with Agathe in Italy, shortly before I was posted to France. I could remember the intimacy as if it was yesterday, the intensity of the morning sex along with the sobering realization that it would be the final time I would be with her for the indefinite future. I had been able to release of all my frustrations within a woman I loved through sex, proving my masculinity not only to her, but also to myself.

The immorality of cheating on my fiancée would make the deed all the more delicious.

While I had no excuse for being unfaithful, I had a valid reason for doing so. I was fighting a war and could be killed tomorrow. Why shouldn't I enjoy a small measure of physical comfort when the opportunity willingly presented itself? All the men, including the priests, were behaving the same. The only man who probably had not had an affair on his wife while away at the front was my father. But then again, how could he be anything less than perfect?

I began to struggle internally with my final addiction.

Was it actually infidelity to Agathe, I asked myself? It was just sex, and what could be more natural than sex? Why should I deny myself something so critical to my well-being? And how was I to know Agathe wasn't being unfaithful to me at this very moment?

Ingried was a dark brunette, just like Agathe, with the same deep, brown eyes. I would only need to close my eyes to transpose Agathe into the nurse's body, to be transported back to my final moments with her in Italy.

And then I remembered my oath to Agathe, my promise to remain faithful to her until we were married. Up until now, I had honored my oath to her although I had had more than enough opportunities to break it with numerous women. My oath had suddenly become a significant part of me.

No, I could not be unfaithful to Agathe. I would always honor the sanctity of marriage and I considered engagement to be its equal. I had unknowingly been with a married woman for my first sexual experiences and I would never be unfaithful or cause someone else to be unfaithful again.

I pulled away from Ingried, gently pulling her hands down and removing mine from her body. I closed up her coat and buttoned it, smoothing the heavy fabric. My body felt deprived and disappointed, still craving something from the nurse to calm it down, but my mind accepted it as being wrong.

"I am truly sorry, Fraulein Bauder. I am flattered for the opportunity, but I cannot as much as I would very much like to do so." I found myself blushing, stammering over my words like a young school boy. "It would be wrong of me since I am engaged," I said gently.

She was obviously confused as to what had so suddenly changed between us. "Would it really count as being unfaithful to your engagement? Tomorrow is an unknown. Can it matter for two adults to try to have a moment of sanity and closeness with another human being during a chaotic time? What, in the face of all of that, could it hurt to share a moment of normalcy with someone else?"

I looked deep into her dark brown eyes, eyes which searched my face for a confirmation of her belief.

"I would know, Fraulein, and yes, it would matter," I said to her softly. "It would matter to me. It would matter to my fiancée. And I believe it would eventually matter to you some day."

Her face fell, the disappointment and sadness clearly showing. Here was a young woman serving her country just as I was, probably just as lonely, wanting some type of intimacy to maintain her sanity and to prove she was still a woman.

"Forgive me, Fraulein, for my poor behavior," I apologized, ashamed of my actions. "It was inappropriate and disrespectful of your position."

She attempted to smile, but instead slightly shrugged her shoulders. "I understand. Wars have a way of changing people, of having them do unexpected acts they would never dream of doing during peacetime."

"We shouldn't permit wars to change us."

I looked out into the unknown darkness and what it contained. My recklessness had placed her in a dangerous situation. "Allow me to escort you to your lodging. You should not be out alone."

I escorted her to the entrance of her quarters where I stopped before entering. I removed my cover and took her hand, lightly kissing it.

"Good night, Fraulein. Thank you again."

She leaned up and gently kissed my cheek. "Good night, Major."

I waited for her to enter before quickly leaving.


	14. Chapter 13

I slowly returned to my quarters. I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I entered my room, and casually threw my pack aside as I quietly shut the door behind me.

I had only been gone a few weeks, but the sterile room looked unfamiliar and uninviting. It was little larger than a monk's cell. There was a small sink in the corner and the only furniture was a narrow bed and a small writing table with a chair. The starkness reflected my loneliness and turmoil.

I had originally planned on showering and then sleeping until late the next afternoon. I was dead on my feet, but I placed the thought of sleep aside. It was now no longer an option.

It would be impossible for me to sleep tonight after the difficult events I had experienced over the last few hours. No, for me to sleep would mean my dreams would be visited by Guest. Even from his grave he had the smug satisfaction of turning my dreams into nightmares.

I always had a vague premonition when Guest would pay my nightmares a visit. I had attempted to ward him off with capacious amounts of alcohol, but it did little good. He visited at night usually after I was extremely stressed and exhausted. And tonight the premonition was overwhelming.

The nightmares with Guest were always so realistic! I never saw his face, but I knew it was him. I would be able to smell his nauseating cologne, which failed to conceal his overpowering perspiration. I would find myself chained to a wall facing it. And then it would begin.

The nightmares never contained memories of the torture, only of him touching me. I would always awake with a start, drenched in perspiration, believing I was again being held his prisoner in Ater. The last nightmare had been truly distressing, the increasing sexual violence against me unspeakable.

Before Guest, I had rarely experienced sleep problems. I could literally count on one hand the number of nightmares I had experienced in my lifetime before my capture. Now, they seemed to invade my tranquility all too frequently. I thought it ironic that although I regularly dreamed of being in combat, none of those dreams had ever turned into nightmares. They were always professional and straightforward, even the ones involving Troy and the Rat Patrol.

Shaking my head to rid my memory of the nightmares, I lit a fire in the small stove hoping to chase the chill from the room and from my bones. With a sigh, I began stripping off my damp uniform placing it in front of the stove so it could dry. It was then that I noticed a stack of letters neatly placed on the writing table.

I eagerly glanced through them, pleased to see that several were from Agathe. I had not received any letters from her for quite some time and had become very concerned. I had blamed her silence on the increasingly erratic mail delivery, but the doubt of her safety was always present in the back of my mind.

Smiling at her memory, I looked at the dates. The letters were old, the most recent one was dated over six weeks ago. I frowned. It was unlike Agathe to wait so long before responding to the letters I wrote her almost daily.

I sat down and placed them in order by postdate. I then hungrily tore the oldest one open, eager to reconnect with her.

I reread it several times before placing it softly on the desk. The letter contained the joyous and heartbreaking news that I was to be a father.

I was blindsided by the unexpected news. While I had thought about fatherhood when I was with Miles less than a week ago, it had now became a reality.

Agathe's letter was dated November 13. I counted backwards quickly. I had last been with Agathe in June which would make her approximately five months pregnant when she wrote the letter.

She explained how she had thought it best to delay informing me since the early stages of her pregnancy had been difficult. She had wanted to ensure the health of the baby and her own self before notifying me of the wonderful news. Agathe had not wanted to add anything more to my extreme difficulties after what I had experienced during my final days in Africa.

My mind settled on Agathe and the arduous time she must have confronted after her pregnancy became obvious. I could only imagine what she had faced alone, the stigma of being unmarried and pregnant, the possible disdain and estrangement of her family. Although having children outside of marriage had become increasingly common, even encouraged under the Nazis, there was still an extreme prejudice regarding it within the social circle to which we belonged.

I cursed myself for not insisting for us to be married in Italy after we became engaged. Father Leone, the Jesuit doctor who had cared for me, would have gladly performed the ceremony. It would have quietly bypassed the intrusive and intensive background checks required for marriage by the Nazi regime. Through marriage, Agathe would have been entitled to an allowance for being an officer's wife. The allowance would have been increased after the child was born and would have provided for the both of them.

I quickly began reading Agathe's other letters, desperate for news of her and the child. I savored them for the next half hour, intimately connecting with Agathe through her words and the touch of her letters.

Each letter built off the previous one, providing more news with growing anticipation and joy. While there was happiness over the child, her letters also contained a growing despair over lack of word from me. The anxiety my silence was causing her became more and more evident with each letter.

Her final letter was dated the beginning of March. She had returned to Hamburg, but was now living in an apartment since her family's home had been destroyed by Allied bombing raids. I knew that Hamburg was becoming increasingly targeted by Allied bombers due to its harbor and nearby industrial centers. Although I tried to convince myself that she was safer in Hamburg than in a field hospital at the front or in Berlin, the concerns still grew within me.

Agathe assured me that she was safe, but begged me to write to her soon. She was desperate to hear from me, needing me to assure her that I was well. While not stated directly, I could sense her fear that my silence was due to having abandoned her when she had notified me of the unforeseen pregnancy.

I looked up from her letter to stare across the room. Surely Agathe knew me well enough to realize that I deserting her at this time would be the furthest thing from my mind. I had a profound reverence for pregnancy and fatherhood. Even if we were not yet married, it would have never occurred to me to respond to the news with anything other than deep love and a determination to secure our future and that of our family.

Agathe ended her letter by stating that the baby had dropped and would be born any day. I glanced down at my calendar. Today was March 15th. I smiled. The baby must have been born by now. Was the child a boy or a girl? While I had always wanted a son, I would gladly love and treasure a daughter just as dearly.

I reread all of the letters before placing them neatly on top of the thick bundle of her other letters which I kept in a drawer.

A profound sadness seized me.

In the space of less than thirty minutes, my life had completely changed and would never be the same again. I had missed the glow of Agathe's pregnancy and the wonder of watching our child grow within her. And when would I experience the amazement of holding the child for the first time? How many months or possibly years from now? Would I live to see my child and be reunited with Agathe? The war was entering its final stages and there were no guarantees for my survival. There was the very real possibility that neither would ever see me again.

I was now filled with a deep shame that I had contemplated being unfaithful to Agathe only a short time ago. Agathe was the woman who had carried and borne my child. She deserved a better man than myself.

I finally turned my attention to the other letters I had received.

There were some letters from my mother and sister which I would read later. Mixed among them were a few letters from women I had casually known in the distant past who still clung to me despite my silence.

The single letter from my father I would discard, unopened and unread.

I lit a cigarette and stared out into the emptiness of my sparse quarters. The room began to fill with smoke as I continued mentally debating about what I must do.

I then made several decisions impacting my immediate and long term future.

I slowly stood up. Tonight, I would go to the lines where the remaining men from my unit were keeping watch. Standing watch with them would push aside my impending nightmares. Sleep would eventually arrive tomorrow when I was too exhausted to avoid it. After I awoke, with my mind refreshed, I would bring my journal up to date.

I showered and closely shaved. I dressed in a clean uniform, thankful for its heaviness and warmth in the colder climate. I poured myself a small whiskey before sitting down again at my writing table. I lit a cigarette and lazily smoked it, drawing the smoke deep into my lungs. The alcohol and cigarettes helped me feel vaguely human again. They helped take the edge off my racing body and mind and the cravings gradually subsided.

I reached into the drawer and removed a small photograph of Agathe, the only one I had of her. I gazed at it for several moments, my thoughts consumed with her.

"Ah, Agathe! How I pray to God that I will be reunited with you and our child soon."

Once I had stubbed out my cigarette, I began working on my letters, occasionally sipping from the whiskey.

I wrote a long letter to Agathe passionately telling her of my deep love of her and our child. I explained that my silence was due to having just now received her letters informing me of the news. Surely she must realize that as a man and her fiancée, I would never abandon her.

I expressed my overwhelming desire to see the both of them as soon as possible. I provided her the dates of my leave and several possible locations where we could meet. I wanted to immediately marry her, to ensure they would be taken care of while I was away.

I shared with her the good news of my promotion which led into my next subject. Without providing her the underlying reason, I informed her of my decision to request a transfer to the Eastern front. I added how I trusted she would accept and support my decision for such a difficult choice, even given its inherent danger.

Finally, I offered her my plans for after the war. I looked forward to a future life with her and the baby, beginning over again after immigrating to Australia. The generous inheritances from my grandparents would be more than sufficient to support us in a comfortable life until I established a new career.

Sealing the envelope was difficult, as if I was ending a momentary connection to her.

I sat there for a few minutes, lost in my thoughts. I happened to glace at my calendar again.

"Wednesday, March 15th," I said out loud. "The due date for income taxes to be filed in the United States." I smiled at the inconsequential piece of trivia, trying to remember who had burdened my brain with such a negligible fact.

I remembered with a start.

It was Perkins who had informed me of the date's significance. He had glibly told me it would be the day I received my promotion to major, he had prevented me from committing suicide. At times, I debated myself if his visits were real or just hallucinations. But, I possessed Lyon's lighter, the proof of their visits.

Suddenly, a sense of dread seized me and I greatly feared for Agathe and our child.

If Perkins was accurate regarding the day of my promotion, could he also be correct about everything else he had mentioned so nonchalantly? About my marriage to an American redhead? It was impossible for Agathe to be that woman.

"No, please no . . ." I whispered. Everything was falling into place too neatly, as the fortune-teller and Perkins had both predicted.

I immediately wrote Agathe a second letter, expressing my concern for her remaining in Hamburg. The two of them should immediately relocate away from the city and industrial center. They should remain, though, in the western half of the country which I assumed Britain and the United States would control after the war. This should keep them relatively safe, away from the Soviets who would eventually arrive from the east.

I urgently asked her to forward me her new address given the growing unpredictability of mail deliveries. I would immediately begin seeking a safe, permanent place for them to live until the war ended. I knew the abbess at a convent near Coburg. I would contact her to see if the convent and nuns would be willing to provide refuge for the both of them.

I felt marginally better after I had completed my second letter to her. I hoped it would spur Agathe to immediately contact me. The declining war situation was the cause of her silence, nothing more, I tried to assure myself.

I next wrote to von Kleist, formally requesting my transfer to 4th Panzer Army posted in the east. I outlined the skills and experience I possessed and how they would serve a greater benefit there than to my current unit stationed here in France. To ensure von Kleist received my letter, I would personally deliver it to his adjutant when I returned to duty in a few minutes.

I stared at my writing paper for the third letter, wanting to avoid it, but realizing it must be written. It was now time to face it after avoiding it for so many years.

I removed another cigarette from the pack, waiting several seconds before lighting it. I looked across the room, staring off into the past of my life.

My father was ingrained in my soul and would never leave. Instead, it would be necessary for me to leave him. I was desperate to be free of him as I was to escape the crutch of heroin I used to completely numb me against his unattainable high expectations.

I realized from my initial conversation with Guest that it was my fears and doubts which led to my insecurities about being a man. If only I could obtain my desire to be perfect, to be the perfect son and the perfect soldier, I would then be finally bestowed my father's approval and along with it, his love and respect.

It became blatantly clear to me: It was the lack of my father's approval which was driving my addictions.

It was critical for me to face and accept my addictions in order to obtain complete control of myself. If I was unable to control my addictions, my life would continue to spiral downward and eventually my only option to be rid of them would be to commit suicide.

"Forgive me, Irene," I said in a soft voice, staring out across my quarters, envisioning her in front of me. The oath I had made to Irene ten years ago greatly troubled me.

"Forgive me, Irene," I repeated. "I am unable to keep my promise to you. It was wrong of me to make it almost a decade ago. I made it under false pretenses, when I was a foolish young man in love. I swore on my honor with the hope it would win you and your love by doing so. I should have known that I would never be able to fulfill it."

I committed myself to the decision I had made. I prayed to the Almighty, softly chanting the words to give me hope and strength from all of my addictions:

"Oh merciful God, I pray for me, enslaved in body and spirit, that your love and grace may set me free and make me strong."

I picked up my pen, dipped it into the dark ink and composed my final letter of the evening. It was the briefest of the three and took me only a moment to complete it.

The note was to my father, severing all ties with him. I needed to break away from my father, even though it would come at the expense of losing my mother and sister, both of whom I loved dearly.

 _Sir,_

 _I was recently informed that my posting to Northern Africa instead of to the Eastern front with the Sixth Army was due to your intervention. While your interventions have been a constant re-occurrence in my life, this action has now made them intolerable._

 _It is critical for me as a Wehrmacht officer, and as a man, to prove my own capabilities without your interference, no matter what justifications or reasons you may possess. For me to be assigned to an area considered less dangerous, or one more advantageous, undercuts my service to Germany and also all of those who are serving in both areas._

 _It is for this reason I am severing all ties I have with you. I have no desire to be in contact with you now or anytime in the future. I have made the decision not to return to Coburg after the war ends. I will instead reside elsewhere until I am able to make arrangements to emigrate from Germany._

 _H. Dietrich_


	15. Epilogue

Troy was impressed. And he didn't impress easily. "It was a slick operation, Moffitt."

"I must agree, Troy. Very well done indeed," Moffitt said.

"Whoever pulled it off definitely knew his stuff. He only used a handful of men, didn't fire a shot, only killed one guy, and lost none of his own men. In and out in just a few minutes."  
"Frankly," Moffitt gave Troy a sideways grin, "it was a raid I would have expected from you."

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment. Even if you are comparing me to a Kraut." Grinning himself, Troy finished his beer and signaled the waiter to bring another round.

Moffitt sat back in his chair. "So who was it? Any leads?"

"Nah, Intelligence is still working on it."

"Hope you're not holding your breath." Moffitt raised a skeptical eyebrow. "That could take a while then, couldn't it?"

Troy chuckled at Moffitt's well placed pessimism at the oxymoron that was Army Intelligence.

"And Miles is still relearning how to speak. They don't know if he'll ever fully regain his voice. He was only able to provide a general description, nothing definitive." Moffitt took a sip of his mixed drink and made a face like he'd been sucking on a lemon. "That is bloody awful!"

"Serves you right for getting all fancy, Moffitt." Troy slid his untouched beer across the table and signaled the bartender again. "At least Miles was treated okay by the raiding party, especially by the commanding officer."

"I'm sure that their kind actions will be a great comfort to the boy. Once he stops having nightmares as a result of the trauma of being abducted." Moffitt shook his head in angry disbelief. "Really, Troy! Abducting children! That's an all-time low, even for the Nazis. They must be becoming fairly desperate to resort to such things."

Troy nodded. "It's sure not something that we would have seen two years ago."

"It will probably qualify as a war crime." Moffitt's eyes were as cold as his voice. "And as well it should."

"Probably," agreed Troy, taking a sip of his fresh beer. "As slick as the operation was, I wouldn't want to be the guy who carried it out. I mean, kidnapping is one thing, but I'm hearing that the Nazis are up to far worse things in the occupied territories."

"True. If he was ordered to do that, God knows what kind of awful things he'll get caught up in before the war ends."

Troy thought about all of the things that he'd been hearing about the increasing cruelty of the Nazis. Kidnapping a kid was just the tip of the iceberg. Some of the things Troy had heard about were so horrifying that they were almost unbelievable. A look at Moffitt told Troy that he was probably thinking about the same thing. After all, they'd all heard the rumors for a while. Now, as the war progressed to its end, they were just getting worse. And Troy would bet a case of beer that they weren't just rumors any more.

It was Moffitt who finally broke the silence.

"There was something odd, Troy, that happened to the boy when he was being guarded by the officer leading the raid."

Troy looked up from his beer. "What's that Moffitt?"

"Well, the boy was looking at a portfolio of drawings sketched by the German officer."

Troy frowned. "Why was he showing pictures to Miles?"

"It was a long journey, perhaps it was merely to pass the time?"

Troy was becoming irritated with Moffitt. "Okay, spit it out. What's the point of you telling me that?"

Moffitt leaned closer. "One of them was of a nude woman."

"You're kidding? This guy showed pornography to a kid?" Troy shook his head in disgust as his professional opinion of the unknown officer plummeted. "Pervert."

Moffitt smiled. "No, Troy, it really wasn't all that risqué. Just an art drawing the officer had sketched. Apparently of his fiancée."

"Fiancée, huh?" Troy thought about that for a moment. "Bad time for a Kraut to be engaged."

"Bad time for anyone to become engaged, if you ask me," Moffitt agreed. "We've still got quite a bit of war before it's over. But as a German, you're right, I'd especially take pause."

"Yeah. It would be the last thing on my mind, with a war raging, and me on the losing side of it." Troy took a drink and thought of his own upbringing. "Wouldn't want to make the woman a widow or leave my children fatherless."

Moffitt nodded. "You should be aware, Troy, there was another drawing of interest in the sketchbook."

Troy was leery of where Moffitt was heading. "Okay, I'll bite. What was it?"

Moffitt paused for a moment and looked away, not answering.

"Come on, what was the significance of the other drawing?" Troy was starting to wonder what exactly Moffitt had to tell him.

Moffitt finally met Troy's eyes, "It was of you."

"Me?" Troy was surprised. "Also naked?"

Moffitt, who had just taken a drink of his beer, very nearly choked from the effort to keep from spraying Troy with it. Managing to swallow, he started laughing until tears appeared in his eyes.

"I am sorry, Troy . . ." Moffitt began to apologize, but the words didn't come before he had started laughing again.

It took him several minutes to regain his composure, with Troy glaring at him all the while.

"You know, you should give a fellow some warning before you ask a question like that." Moffitt wiped his mouth and at his eyes. "No, you weren't nude. It was just a standard portrait of your upper torso, apparently drawn by the same officer."

"Huh," said Troy, puzzled. Why in the world, he asked himself, would some random German officer be drawing a portrait of him?

A sudden twinkle came to Moffitt's eyes. "Unknown though, if you were unclothed on your lower torso."

Once again, Moffitt looked dangerously close to hysterics.

Troy gave him a warning look.

Troy was intrigued despite himself. "But how? Why? I don't get it. Miles was sure it was of me?"

"Positive. The artist had even placed your name on it. In fact, it was such an excellent likeness that Miles recognized you from it when he saw you during the rescue operation. He couldn't believe it was you."

"Did Miles ask about the picture?"

"He did, as a matter of fact. The officer indicated that you were an acquaintance."

"Strange." Troy thought about it for a moment more. "And what was I doing in the picture?"

"Nothing. Apparently, it was a standard portrait, just like you had sat for the artist."

"Was there a picture of you, Hitch, or Tully?"

Moffitt thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, no. At least not that Miles mentioned or saw."

"What else was in the sketchbook? Any clues? Any information on who he was, or about his team?"

Moffitt shook his head. "Nothing that struck me as important when I heard it. Pictures of a horse, a tank, a house, other German officers, a graveyard, a . . ."

Troy cut Moffitt off. "I don't get it. Why? I don't fit with the other pictures he drew. Besides, how would he know enough to draw a picture of me?"

Moffitt started to answer but Troy waved his hand, effectively cutting him off.

"Just a rhetorical question, Moffitt. I'm not really looking to discuss theories of why things are the way that they are."

"Yes, and that's really all they would be, isn't it? Theories? And as interesting as it is to speculate, we'll likely never know why your likeness appeared in that sketchbook."

Moffitt turned his attention to his beer, letting Troy to think about what he'd just learned in peace.

A courier interrupted them, handing Troy a sealed manila envelope. "Sergeant Troy, Captain Boggs asked me to deliver a file to you. Army Intelligence was able to dig up the information you requested."

"Thanks." Troy turned his full attention to the envelope. "We'll with any luck, we're going to find out more about our mystery officer. Wonder who the artistic bastard is?"

Moffitt eyed the envelope with curiosity. "What do you have there, Troy?"

Not answering, Troy slit open the sealed flap and pulled out two full-sized photographs along with a tightly spaced biographical sheet of information. He looked at the photographs, staring at them for several seconds. He briefly glanced at the biography sheet, focusing on the last few lines. He then slid the information back into the envelope before tossing on the table in disgust.

"Troy, what is it?" Moffitt asked, concerned. "Looks like you've seen a ghost."

Troy lit a cigarette and stared off into nothing. "I have."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense. Who is it?"

Troy crossed his arms against his chest and remained stubbornly silent as if not talking about it would make it less true.

Moffitt sighed. "May I at least see for myself?"

Resigned, Troy nodded his approval. "Go ahead."

Moffitt eagerly reached for the envelope and pulled out the photographs. He studied them, glancing between the two, comparing them. The strong features were boldly captured by the camera. There was no doubt who the man was.

"Well, now," Moffitt said, with a frown. "It's our old friend Dietrich, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Troy said.

"Looks like the most recent one was taken for a pay book, or an official document," Moffitt said. "The second photograph, definitely propaganda, could have been taken when he received his commendation after Jufra."

Troy thought that sounded as likely as anything.

Moffitt continued studying the earlier photograph, as if analyzing it for any additional information or clues. "Odd, isn't it? For Rommel to be giving him the commendation, and not Hitler. I thought Hitler preferred doing these type of events himself. I would wager that Dietrich was likely seriously wounded and unable to travel to Berlin." Moffitt shrugged. "No doubt Dietrich would have preferred receiving it from Rommel anyway. I know I would have."

Once again, Troy silently agreed with Moffitt.

Moffitt turned his attention to the other photograph. He placed both, side by side, on the table, comparing them. "Hard to tell when the latest photograph was taken. Something more recent than Africa, probably within the last few months. He looks older, doesn't he? The war is aging him."

"It's aging all of us," Troy said. "We'll all be old men if it doesn't end soon. Physically and mentally."

"True enough." Moffitt sighed. "I know some days I feel as though I'm a hundred."

"Me too," Troy admitted. "Maybe older."

With the barest hint of a grin, Moffitt turned his attention to the biographical sheet. He read it with just as much interest as he had shown towards the photographs. When he was done, he neatly shuffled it all together and placed it on the table.

"Well, now we know how the artist knew me well enough to draw the picture," Troy said.

"Makes one wonder about the 'why', though," mused Moffitt. "It's all very odd, isn't it?"

Odd, thought Troy, was a word that kept coming up.

And the whole thing was odd. He'd think that Dietrich would rather think of any number of things besides him in his free time. But yet, the guy had made the effort to complete a portrait of him, a very detailed likeness.

The whole thing was just weird, and Troy found it unsettling.

They sipped at their beers for a few minutes before Moffitt broke the silence again.

"Looks like we know what happened, or rather what didn't happen, to Dietrich? He didn't defect, and he wasn't shot by the Gestapo. You were always convinced that he safely made it out of Africa, Troy. I guess we know now that you were right."

Troy remembered the speculation about Dietrich that he and Moffitt had shared while Troy had been recuperating from Guest's torture. "Never doubted it for an instant."

"You were also right about Italy. According to the Intelligence brief from the packet, Dietrich recovered there before being ordered back to France to work with Rommel. Lucky bastard wasn't sent to the Eastern front after all. It would have been the more logical assignment given his extensive tank experience." Moffitt shook his head. "But then, who knows how any army makes its postings, eh?"

"You got that right," Troy said thoughtfully. He fixed Moffitt with a look. "Makes just about as much sense as assigning a Ph.D. from Cambridge to a US commando unit."

"Touché, Troy." Moffitt laughed. "I'm sure that just like with everything else, there's more than meets the eye concerning Dietrich's ability to be able to avoid the Eastern front."

Grinning, Troy shook his head. "Who knows? Maybe his old man pulled some strings to have him sent to France instead."

"Sounds logical. I had forgotten about his father being General Erich Dietrich. I doubt, though, Dietrich would particularly care for or want interference from his father."

Troy was done discussing the minutia of the situation. The only thing that mattered to him was where current events were leading all of them.

"Well, it doesn't really matter how, or why, he was ordered somewhere," Troy said finally. "He ended up in France, which is where we're probably heading next. You're getting too focused on past details that have no real bearing on the future."

"Perhaps. But something that happened to him must've changed him. I can't imagine the Dietrich we knew doing such a nasty piece of work. Looks like he's no different than the other Nazis after all."

"Maybe, maybe not. Who knows at this point in the war? Sometimes I question my orders and their necessity, too, Moffitt. If he received orders from his higher ups, there wouldn't have been much he could have done about it."

"Still making excuses for Dietrich, Troy?" Moffitt asked, his good-natured tone almost softening his somewhat pointed question.

"Not in the least. He and his men treated the boy decently and they minimized the casualties. Seems like he did what he could to limit the situation," Troy said. "Just like the rest of us try to do when the circumstances are less than ideal."

Before Moffitt could even open his mouth again, Troy glared at him.

"At least Dietrich doesn't appear to have suffered any long term effects from the torture in Ater," Moffitt said, wisely changing the conversation's direction.

"Maybe, maybe not." Troy shrugged. "No way to really know, is there? Sometimes you can't see all the damage that's been done."

Moffitt seemed to suddenly be fascinated with the faded script that marked his bottle of beer. "Too true."

"It is, isn't it? I now wear a size larger in boots, thanks to Guest. But that's not the worst of it. It's the memory of it. Waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because I've been reliving it over and over again in my nightmares . . ." Troy gave Moffitt a sideways look. "But I don't need to tell you any of this, do I? You've been there, too."

"Of course I have been, Troy. And you're quite right, the physical damage heals long before the psychological damage does." Moffitt looked grim, obviously thinking of the pain and misery that he had been dealt at the hands of others in the course of his time in the war. "I wouldn't wish it on any man, not the enemy, and certainly not upon Dietrich. We all just want to forget about it, don't we?"

"Doesn't work like that, does it? We sure as hell don't always get what we want."

"Damned war," Moffitt said with feeling.

For a moment, Troy thought back to the torture he had shared with the German officer, along with their escape several days later. "I can't put my finger on it, Moffitt, but it seems like something else happened to Dietrich back in Ater with Guest, something more than just the torture and heroin."

"Oh?" Moffitt asked.

Troy picked up the more recent photograph of the German officer, staring at it intently. "He looks hard around the eyes."

Moffitt leaned closer, studying the photograph that Troy held. "Except for being older, he looks exactly the same to me, Troy."

"Nah, he's different. I've seen him too many times in combat, and out, not to know."

Whatever it is you believe to be bothering Dietrich, Troy, he'll just need to face it. Just like the rest of us." Moffitt pushed his chair away from the table and made an exasperated noise. "Won't he?"

Troy would bet that Dietrich faced his demons every day. Just like the rest of them. He still couldn't help but to wonder what exactly Dietrich's were.

"Perhaps he has come to the realization he will be on the losing side in the war, and he probably won't make it back home to Germany." Moffitt shook his head sadly. "If there is by some miracle anything left of Germany at the end of this."

Troy picked up the documents and placed them back in the envelope. "I'm sure Dietrich realized Germany was going to lose the whole war when we were back in Africa. He'll make it to the end of it, though."

"You're making a fairly large prediction about Dietrich, believing he'll survive. It would be a big prediction to make about any of us."

"Have I been wrong yet?" Troy asked, with a grin.

"No you haven't," Moffitt agreed, somberly. "You've been dead right each time."

"It's odd, but I've always felt like something was drawing all of us together. Including him. Something I can't explain. I've felt this way from the first time I went up against him, long before you even joined up with us."

"There are millions of men fighting," Moffitt reminded Troy. "Even if we were all to survive until the end of it, the likelihood of any of us crossing paths with Dietrich again is incredibly small."

"Yeah." Troy downed the rest of his beer.

"And if he's sent to the eastern front?" Moffitt looked daunted at the reality of it all. "His odds of survival are basically null. Both during and after the war."

Moffitt, thought Troy, could say what he wanted. And really, as per usual, what Moffitt was saying was logically sound. But, logical or not, Troy knew that Dietrich would survive and they would see him again. He really didn't need to convince anyone of it, including Moffitt, because Troy himself was already convinced.

"You said it yourself, Moffitt." Troy shrugged. "I've been right about everything else, haven't I? I'm right about this, too."

"Well, maybe there is some type of higher power bringing everything together. Good of an explanation as anything else, I suppose," Moffitt said, finally. "We'll just need to wait and see what the future holds for us."

"Everything except the shouting will all be over by this time next year, Moffitt," Troy promised. "We'll find out then what happened to Dietrich. I don't think he'll be sent to the eastern front. But my gut's telling me that it won't be pretty for him here in the west, either."

 **ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS**

Many thanks to Susan, my beta reader, for all her unending assistance and patience with me for my story. Most of all, thank you Susan, for bringing to life Troy and Moffitt's voices.


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